Dislike The Dull Evening
by elfmaiden4legs
Summary: AU sequel to the episode 'Choose A Bright Morning' in which the bite Tristan receives from Timmy is rather more severe than he first thought.
1. Chapter 1

**PART 1**

Tristan winced and rubbed at the bite on the back of his leg. He hoped that nobody had noticed that he hadn't been putting his full weight down on his right foot.

Deidre and Callum had fought fiercely again - locking horns and laying into each other like angry stags - but the raised voices and shouting emanating from the hall had ceased for now. Tristan had heard the door slam for a second time shortly after Siegfried had left, indicating that Callum too had gone out - probably to clear his head.

It suddenly seemed as though everybody had forgotten about him now – and the quiet which had now descended over the house somewhat suited him. He didn't mind the fact that now that he had managed to convince them all that he was alright they didn't seem too bothered with him anymore. His head was pounding – the day's events had at last began to take their toll, and Tristan was beginning to feel far from well.

He had tried to dress the bite himself with sticking plaster, but it had been too large and rather too deep and trying to stick it with Elastoplast had been like trying to seal a burst pipe with cello-tape. The sticky flesh coloured fabric had barely been enough to partially cover the graze on the back of his ankle where Timmy's teeth had scraped across the surface of his skin. The leg of his pyjama trousers had concealed the rest of the wound - the broken skin still sticky with encrusted and congealed blood.

As soon as they'd both arrived home Deidre had sent Tristan up to his room to change out of his wet clothes whilst she had busied herself heating water on the small stove in the kitchen. She hadn't witnessed how he'd struggled to scale the stairs. The pain had been excruciating – the wound burned and smarted like a hot polka adorned with millions of tiny needles being pressed against his skin. He'd been thoroughly frozen through to the bone and shivering, but thanks to the hot, sweet tea she'd been plying him with all evening he was at least now feeling quite a bit warmer than he had been – if not a little too warm maybe. There was cold water where there should have been warm blood flowing through his veins – but his face and cheeks were hot to the touch, suggestive of a developing fever.

He breathed a sigh to steady himself and ran a cold hand across his warm and clammy forehead. His particular area of expertise may have been confined to veterinary medicine, but he also knew enough to realise that he would be lucky to escape infection. He was already feeling nauseous. His chest ached with every breath – but he still somehow managed to convince himself that if he could just get to bed he might be able to sleep off his frankly quite alarming list of symptoms.

He started to try and think of ways to get past Deidre without arousing her suspicions – but he felt rather muzzy headed and this was making him a little unsteady on his feet. He didn't think that he had the strength to hide his limp from her anymore. Movement made his head throb to the rhythm of his heartbeat, and he swallowed hard to try and dispel the nausea which had taken route in the pit of his stomach.

Standing up made him feel somewhat sea sick. He felt as though he was floating – either that or the ground was moving beneath him and he struggled to find his footing. His leg was on fire – as though someone was holding it over an open flame – but he knew which of the anti-biotics and painkillers which they kept in the surgery would be reasonably safe for him to take. Now that Siegfried and Callum had left he only had to worry about getting past Deidre. He could inject himself quickly and easily enough, all he then had to do was get from the kitchen into the surgery, and then upstairs to his bedroom without arousing anyone's suspicions first.

Deep down, if he was honest with himself, he knew that such an idea was ludicrous. It was bound to fail – he barely had strength enough left to stand let alone scale the stairs – and it was bordering on the side of irresponsible. He had to tell someone about his leg. As things were he was already not in the best of shape. He knew that ne now needed urgent medical attention, but perhaps it was more a testament to his growing fever that he was no longer able to think straight, rather than to his own stupidity - which he realised he was renowned for. But the thought of everyone fussing over him again filled him with a sense of dread, and he decided that it would probably be worth a try if it meant that he could slip away unnoticed and nurse his ills in peace.

The majority of the wounds he'd sustained to his leg and ankle that afternoon were just superficial flesh wounds - shallow scrapes and grazes - where his torn trousers had taken the brunt of Timmy's attack, but there were a couple of reasonably deep puncture marks to his calf where the dog had managed to get a tight hold of his leg.

Despite doubting he could, he tried again to stand – testing the stability of the limb carefully before taking a few tentative test steps. His ankle didn't immediately give way beneath him, which was a promising sign, but he also didn't feel entirely confident that it was capable of supporting his dead weight for very long either. Tristan was as stubborn as he was careless however, which would prove to be his downfall on this occasion - quite literally so.

As he took an unsteady step towards the kitchen door a searing pain erupted in his ankle and the room began to spin violently - it felt as though he'd suddenly found himself caught in the cycle of a spin dryer. He found himself pitching forwards, knocking over a chair as he fell and hitting the floor hard. He lay there for what felt like quite a while, dazed and winded, and feeling too weak and exhausted to get back up. When he finally did move it took him quite some effort to just roll over onto his back, where he continued to lie motionless, watching the ceiling spinning above him - his chest heaving with the effort of breathing.

He groaned weakly, feeling utterly sorry for himself and helpless.

Meanwhile, Deidre had been standing in the hallway, watching Callum go with tears streaming down her face and willing him to come back and fight for her, but already knowing that he would not. He was too angry and too proud, and she felt ashamed that she now had to go back in to Tristan, after such a degrading and undignified display, and tell him that things were probably all over between the two of them.

They had never argued like this before.

The loud clatter and then the crash which she heard coming from the kitchen however sent her rushing back in there, and she was alarmed to find Tristan sprawled out on the floor. He was just beginning to sit up but she could tell that he was quite unwell. His face was pale but his cheeks were pink, and his complexion was tinged with a sickly green, as though he was struggling to hold on to his tea - the caffeine rich drink sitting uncomfortably in his stomch aggravating his nausea. Her greatest cause for concern was that his chest seemed to be moving in the most erratic manner however, as though he was finding it difficult to breathe, and there was a pained and somewhat alarmed expression upon his pasty face, as though his collapse had caught him off guard.

"Oh my God, Tristan! What happened?" She asked in her lyrical Scottish accent, pushing the upturned chair aside and tripping over the legs in her haste to get to him.

"It's alright Deidre, I just tripped." He tried to explain, doing his best to play down what had just happened in a feeble attempt to spare himself any further humiliation, but as she bent down beside him she couldn't help but notice the mangled state of his leg - the wound barely visible beneath his trouser leg. Her face paled as she took in the sight of the encrusted blood against the inflamed skin, and as she reached out to gently touch his slightly flushed cheeks he grimaced and pulled away from her, aware that he could not conceal a fever from her – but as her fingers brushed against the side of his face lightly Tristan pulled his trouser leg back down.

"God Tris, you're burning up!" She frowned.

Tristan groaned as she reached out for him again. He felt the cool of her palm against his warm skin, and this time he leaned into her touch – shuddering. He tried to stand, but finding himself unable to get back up he slumped back down onto the cold, hard floor, remaining where he'd fallen.

He hadn't actually felt too bad whilst Seigfried had been there – he'd felt a little unwell, but nowhere near as awful as he did now. Their conversation had helped to distract him, and he suspected that the adrenalin which had still been coursing through his system had probably had something to do with him not noticing the onset of his symptoms sooner. The weakness had gripped him so suddenly after Siegfried had left, and it scared him to think of how quickly the illness could have taken hold.

"I'm sorry Deidre," He apologised, ashamed by how weak his own voice sounded to him, but powerless to do anything about it, "but do you think you could help me up? I don't seem able to manage it myself." He asked her.

"Tris you don't look well at all!" She observed with a soft frown, gently cupping both his cheeks in her hands and then feeling his forehead again to try and access the severity of his fever. His hands were cold, but his face was hot, and there were the first faint traces of sweat upon his brow. The dark shadows beneath his tired eyes and the fact that his eyelids drooped heavily as though he was struggling to stay awake were also a testament to just how exhausted he was feeling.

"To be honest with you Deidre, I have felt better..." He confessed.

"Hang on a second," She bade him, "I'll go and get Siegfried!"

It was only when she said this that Tristan realised that what had felt to him like several minutes since Siegfried and Callum had left had in actual fact only amounted to a matter of seconds - a minute at the most - and as she scrambled to her feet and hurried urgently from the room he allowed himself to indulge in another wretched groan, thinking he would really rather she would not.

Although another part of Tristan – perhaps an even bigger part than even he realised – the little boy – longed for the comforting presence of the big brother who had taken care of him when he'd been little, and had comforted him when he'd been ill. There was quite an age gap between the two brothers, and by the time Tristan had been born Siegfried had already moved away from home to commence his studies at veterinary school. It certainly hadn't been easy but he had however returned home for a few days at a time, as well as for short spells during special holidays such as Christmas throughout the course of his little brother's first few years of life. He had done his best to play an active role in Tristan's upbringing and childhood, balancing looking after him with school work when he could, and staying in to study and take care of his little brother in order to give his parents some much needed time to themselves. Rather than going out partying and drinking with his friends Siegfried had always been a family man at heart. Tristan had on occasion wondered whether this was the real reason Siegfried had never seemed to understand his own party lifestyle, or, when he'd been much younger, whether he had in fact been just a little resentful of his favour with the ladies. But now that he was older and a little more mature he knew this, in his heart, not to be the case.

Tristan actually had very little memory of the part his father had played throughout the earlier years of his childhood - the two most prominent figures who stood out in his memory being his mother and his older brother. Their father had died not very long after he'd turned thirteen - leaving him to face adolescence alone, and with nothing in the way of a suitable male role model had it not been for Siegfried.

It had been right around this time that his older brother had sort to distance himself from Tristan, however - becoming more of an authority figure than the friend he had been throughout his earlier years.

Even so Tristan still had his male pride, and he couldn't stand the thought of the lecture he anticipated from his brother - he felt sure that Siegfried would be disappointed in him, and if there was one thing Tristan couldn't stand more than his older brother being angry it was him being disappointed in him. He would put on a facade of pretence that his brother's frequent flashes of temper didn't faze him, but he would have been lying if he'd said that they never affected him at all, especially when they were justified.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything however Deidre had gone - and he winced as another bolt of pain shot up the length of his leg like lightening. The pain was so intense that it instantly silenced anything he'd been about to say, along with any pleas which may have been on the tip of his tongue, as he went back to nursing his ills.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

"Siegfried!" Deidre called as she threw the front door open and ran out into the eerily silent street. Callum had already gone, but she was somewhat surprised to see Siegfried's car still parked in the road outside the house. She wondered whether he'd accosted Callum as he'd left – he was standing next to the driver's side door, gazing absentmindedly up the road in the direction Callum would have taken if he'd been heading back into the village.

He turned to look at her as she approached him.

"I'm sorry my dear." He smiled. "I did try talking to him, but he'll come around eventually. He just needs time to calm down and sober up a little first. He always was a little hot headed that boy, I'm afraid..."

"Siegfried it's Tristan!" Deidre explained, grateful that the older Farnham brother cared enough to involve himself in their petty squabbles, but recognising that Callum could not be first on her list of priorities at the moment. She forced herself to push her thoughts of her lover to the back of her mind for now, despite the lingering ache in her heart.

She still couldn't believe that it had been Callum of all people who had suggested that she go back home. Those last few words of his before he'd stormed out of the house had cut through her like a knife, and hurt her more than anything else he could have chosen to say to her, caught up in his alcohol fuelled tantrum. The pain had made her want to pack her bags there and then and catch the first train back to Edinburgh, but she would not go. Deidre had made up her mind that she would stay and fight for Callum, and for their relationship. It was worth at least that much to her – even if he hadn't seemed to think so.

"Tristan?" Siegfried frowned. "My dear I can't seem to leave my little brother alone for more than five minutes! What on earth has he gone and done now?" He asked her.

"He's collapsed Siegfried," She told him, "just now in the kitchen..."

Siegfried's face fell visibly when he heard this – evidently deeply concerned.

"What happened?" He asked her.

"I don't know." She explained. "There was this almighty bang, and when I went in I just found him... lying on the floor in the kitchen."

Before the young woman had even finished trying to explain Siegfried had slammed the car door and had hurried back towards the house. Tristan and Siegfried had always had a tense and volatile relationship which could make things very uncomfortable at times for anyone other than those who knew them well, but their love for each other was never too far from the surface, and Siegfried seemed to take his role as the older brother very seriously indeed – in his own way. There were brief glimpses of the deep affection they harboured for each other if you knew what to look for and knew them both well enough to pick up on the subtle exchanges between the two of them - a gaze held slightly longer than was necessary, or a hand briefly placed gently upon a shoulder - but for the most part Siegfried kept his emotions tightly under wraps.

Deidre found the depth of his concern touching, as she quickly followed him.

"Siegfried!" She called after him, the cold winter wind beating against her cheeks and bleaching her delicate rosy blush. "Siegfried!"

As darkness had set in and sooted the sky black the early evening was beginning to shape up to be a very bitter night indeed. The air was so cold that her breath came in wisps of cloudy-white vapour, and after only a minute of being outside her nose and fingers were already beginning to turn numb. She could no longer feel her top lip and the tip of her tongue had been severed from her senses, so much so that her speech had become unnaturally slurred - her tongue lacking the dexterity to produce certain sounds.

She finally managed to catch up with him at the front door, and as he stopped and turned around to face her he must have noticed the silent appeal within her dark eyes. She was very clearly worried about something, but Siegfried didn't try to force an explanation from her. He held her gaze for a moment with an inquiring look upon his face, and waited patiently for her to explain.

"There's something else." She told him - remembering the brief glimpse she'd caught of the deep and congealed wound just below Tristan's dishevelled trouser leg. She hadn't been able to access how serious the damage was, and whether it was just an inconsequential graze or something a bit more serious - but instinct told her that it was not good, and that the reason he had suddenly collapsed was that below the rest of his trouser leg there was probably a far more severe injury that he was trying to hide.

"He's hurt... it's his leg Siegfried..." She explained. "When he fell I saw blood beneath his trousers... He's leg was black with it...I've been with him for hours..." She faltered, blaming herself, "how could I not have noticed?" She asked him – sounding distraught. She couldn't conceal her panic, despite her attempts to try and compose herself in front of the man she not only considered to be a very good friend but also something of a second father.

Siegfried placed his hand upon her shoulder and patted it gently in what she understood was intended to be a reassuring gesture. He still didn't say anything, Deidre could tell that he was reserving judgement until he had seen the extent of Tristan's injuries for himself, but he didn't have to. Siegfried had his own remarkable way of silencing someone and sending their heart sliding down into the pit of their stomach with one fiercely angry look, but on the same score a small smile, and a gentle hand placed upon the back or a shoulder could have the effect of making one feel as safe as it might be possible to feel, and as though nothing was ever quite as bad as it first seemed.

He held on to her gaze for a further moment, drinking in her watery eyes - wet from the cold, and perhaps a little moist from her suppressed tears - before swiftly turning and hurrying into the house.


	3. Chapter 3

**PART 3**

Deidre followed him, and by the time they both entered the small kitchen Tristan was finally sitting up, but he held his head within his hands where he sat groggily upon the cold, hard floor, breathing deeply as though he was trying to maintain some control over his own self. He hadn't even bothered to replace his displaced trouser leg, and the clots of blood were still evident just above his right ankle.

He looked up as they both entered.

"My dear brother!" Siegfried exclaimed as he observed the state of his younger sibling. "Are you alright?" He asked, leaning down in front of him to take a closer look.

He frowned as his eyes carefully scanned his brother's face and he too acknowledged the paler of his complexion, and the sorry look upon his face. He took in the floppy fringe of hair which was now plastered to his forehead with a fresh sheen of sticky sweat and the way he still held his head in his hands, almost as though it was too much of an effort or that it hurt him too much to keep it upright. Tristan instinctively tried to get to his feet, but yelped out in pain as his trouser leg caressed his torn flesh. He looked up in alarm at Siegfried, and the big brother who had loved him and looked out for him since the day he was born recognised immediate fear upon his little brother's face as he shook his head in confirmation that he was not.

He really was feeling far from well, he had started to feel a little warmer thanks to Deidre's attentive care, but as the evening had worn on the chill had begun to return to his bones, his head was now throbbing just behind his temples, his chest too continued to ache, and the room was still spinning slightly, only adding to his ill ease.

To Siegfried he seemed a little confused and disorientated as he closed his eyes against the piercing light of the room, and because the continued spinning within his head was beginning to make him feel even more nauseous. He feared that he wasn't going to be able to hold on to his stomach contents much longer.

When he opened them again he had the same pathetic and dejected look upon his face which Siegfried had so often seen so many times before back when he had been a child - throughout all the times his little brother had been ill, those nights he'd sat up with him half the night when he'd been throwing up in to the toilet bowl, his stomach wracked with the tell-tale cramps of a sickness bug, and even that time he'd fallen out of the old blossom tree which had used to grow in the back garden of the small cottage which their granny had once occupied, sustaining a severely sprained ankle. Siegfried had been supposed to have been watching him, but had become distracted by his school work. He could still remember the guilt his younger self had felt as he had done his best to comfort his inconsolable brother, whilst trying to strap up his swollen ankle. Tristan had cried that the bandage was too tight, but this has proven to be the first time that Siegfried had felt genuinely grateful for his vetenary training - that he at least had known how best to treat his brother's wounds, and provide him with some temporary relief from the pain.

It had been just the same when Tristan himself had been revising for his own vetenary exams, and had failed them for the third time. Siegfried had known then that his brother had been struggling - the first time it had happened he'd been able to convince himself that it was down his sheer lack of commitment to his studies, and the overindulgent nature of his social life. Even the second time round he'd put it down to him having not learnt from his experience the first time around. But when he'd failed again for a third time Siegfried had finally realised that it was because his brother was struggling to retain the information he'd learnt long enough to commit it down to paper, and yet he'd known, quite helplessly, that there had been nothing he'd been able to do. This was as much the reason for his frequent outbursts of frustration at his brother throughout this time, for although he knew that he couldn't entirely blame his brother for his continued failings, he couldn't help but feel as though if he'd spent more time focusing on his studies and a little less tending to the demands of his busy social life he might make things a little easier on himself. He need not have worried however - Tristan had come through in the end - and Siegfried couldn't have been more proud.

He remembered the afternoon he'd spent with Tristan the day that war had been declared - only weeks before news had arrived that he'd finally passed his vetinary exams. He recalled sitting on the edge of the stone bridge overlooking the little river they'd both walked to in a bid to delay hearing the inevitable for as long as they possibly could. Looking up at his little brother it had hit Siegfried that afternoon just how scared of war he really was - not necessarily for himself, although the subject of his own mortality had never been too far from his thoughts - but he'd realised that this was one evil he couldn't protect Tristan from. Men who had no further knowledge of his little brother than a name on a piece of paper would call him up and tell him that he had to fight. They would not care if he lived or died, and although he could not bring himself to say it Siegfried knew that if he'd lost Tristan he would have been losing the most important person in his life.

Just like being a parent there were no books to teach one how to be a good older brother - especially to a boy who had no father figure left to guide him through the difficult and frequently awkward pitfalls of youth. Everything he had ever done for the child had been based solely upon his own instincts, and the hope that his over-riding desire to do well by his brother would prevent him from making too many mistakes.

Siegfried had been a big brother for most of his life - his methods of moulding Tristan into the fine and upstanding young man he'd always believed he had the potential to be may have at times appeared a little harsh - but he didn't really know how to be anything other, and Tristan had never coped very well with being unwell.

They were in their own way the perfect match for each other, as though God himself had united two souls through blood, realising that they complimented each other as a hand fits a glove. Growing up Siegfried had always felt proud of the fact that he'd been needed, and Tristan had always somehow seemed to require so much looking after. No matter how hard he tried to show his older brother that he could stand on his own two feet and cope alone in the big wide world he always seemed to end up limping home with his tail between his legs in the end. It was one of the reasons why he came down so heavily upon him when he did. All he wanted was to see his little brother succeed, so that he too could hold his head up high and know what it was like to feel a genuine sense of self achievement - but sometimes it seemed as though, through no fault of his own, Tristan was destined to make a mess of everything he tried to accomplish alone. He blundered through life as he had blundered through his youth, never seeming to take too much very seriously and frequently suffering the consequences as a result.

"Sorry Siegfried." He sighed.

"It's alright little brother." Siegfried soothed, taking a moment to examine him carefully from a distance at first, and concerned by his distinctly sluggish gaze. "Shhh, it's alright." He urged again when Tristan's head flopped sideways, and he let out another very weak moan. "Let's get you cleaned up and then see about making you a bit more comfortable, shall we?"

He got down on his knees in front of Tristan, stroking his damp fringe away from his face, and with his own steady and unusually gentle fingers began to prise the younger man's hands away from where they had moved from his head and were now lightly clasped around his leg. Siegfried knew that that would do no good - if it had have still been bleeding the pressure may have helped to stem and slow up the flow - but then if it had have still been bleeding after all this time he couldn't have failed to have noticed it sooner... could he? Then again Tristan had been doing such a good job of hiding his distress all evening that he couldn't be sure.

Tristan resisted at first, the mistrust upon his young face evident as it became apparent just what a state he was in, both physically, but also psychologically, and just how much he feared anything which might run the risk of making the pain any worse. Siegfried had no way of knowing just how much his little brother was hurting, and that was perhaps the hardest thing of all, because how could you possibly put a measure on somebody else's pain?

"Let me take a look... that's it." Siegfried coaxed, doing his best to comfort him as Tristan instinctively reached out a shaky hand to stop him. He prised his brother's trouser leg away from the wound gently, but still Tristan began to whimper and flinched away and grimaced at the searing pain this caused him as layers of sticky, oozing and encrusted blood, which had over a course of hours dried against his torn skin like thick glue, were stripped from the inflamed flesh beneath. Siegfried briefly stopped what he was doing for a moment to give him a chance to compose himself and recover - not wanting to force him into anything before he felt suitably strong enough to cope with it. The dog had quite evidently made quite a mess of his leg.

"Shhh, shhh, take it easy." He whispered, patting his brother on the back. "I promise you Tristan, this will only take a moment."

After a while the younger Farnham finally began to relax a little in Siegfried's arms and entrust himself to his brother's instruction and care, and Siegfried was finally able to resume the slow and steady process. "There's a good fellow... I'm only going to take a look." He assured him, as bit by bit he managed to prise Tristan's trouser leg away from the sticky mass of wounded flesh beneath.

Deidre marvelled at Siegfried's tenderness towards his younger brother. So frequently did he dress him down and tell him off in front of them all that it was quite nice to see just how much he really cared, and how gentle he could be. When he'd finally managed to separate the layer of fabric from the wound, with a careful finger he gently lifted the leg of Tristan's pyjama trousers and reclined his head sideways to take a closer look.

His frown deepened when he saw the extent of his brother's injuries. He had seen many a dog bite in his time - mostly in sheep and other smaller livestock such as chicken's and other poultry. Their instinct was to kill by taking hold of their prey and quite literally shaking the life out of them, it was messy and brutal, and even a dog of a normally quite placid disposition could inflict a nasty bite if provoked or it perceived itself to be threatened. Luckily Tristan's trousers had protected him from the brunt of Timmy's attack, but inevitably the dog had still made quite a mess of the lower half of his brother's leg. The pale flesh was mottled by significant areas of black and purple bruising, Timmy's teeth had gouged a long graze along his calf, just above his ankle, like a huge tyre track, and there were some areas of torn and jagged tissue where his larger canine teeth had actually managed to puncture the flesh.

"Yes, that looks nasty." He acknowledged thoughtfully.

"Deidre," He beckoned her over quietly as he got back on his feet and placed a reassuring hand upon Tristan's shoulder. He felt his brother quiver beneath his gentle touch. "I'd like you to do something for me." He asked, his tone remaining calm but his expression dictating a suitable degree of urgency as was befitting of the situation. He turned his face away from Tristan so that only she could see. "I'd like you to nip next door to Doctor Alanson and tell him to come as soon as possible. Tell him it's an emergency." He advised her.

She nodded.

"Oh and Deidre," He called after her as she turned leave, "when you've done that could you bring me a dressing and a bottle of anti-septic from the consulting room?" He asked her.

"Oh no Siegfried..." Tristan protested, the thought of even so much as a drop of antiseptic going anywhere near the wound making him feel positively sick. Siegfried calmly squeezed his brother's shoulder, upon which his hand was still resting lightly.

Tristan realised that some pain was going to be inevitable. A local anaesthetic was the only way of guaranteeing that he would not feel anything, and he knew that most, if not all of the anaesthetics they kept would not be suitable. He was aware that some of them could even prove fatal if used incorrectly - Siegfried would not risk his brother's life by using even a tiny amount, no matter how much pain he was in.

"Of course Siegfried." She nodded, and hurried from the room.

When she'd gone Siegfried turned his attentions back to his brother. He knelt down beside him again, and seeing the slight rosy hue to his otherwise pale cheeks he put a hand to his warm forehead, nodding with raised eyebrows as his suspicions of a fever were confirmed.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Not good Siegfried." Tristan shook his head miserably. "I don't seem to know whether I'm hot or cold at the moment, I've got the most horrendous headache, and if I'm honest I feel as sick as a dog who's just eaten an entire tin of old Mrs Hall's fruit cake!"

Siegfried nodded, taking a moment to ponder over his brother's ominous list of symptoms. He certainly looked far from well, and although he hadn't said anything about chest pain he was faintly worried about the slight wheeze he could hear on his brother's breath. Siegfried knew that this did not necessarily indicate the beginnings of an infection, or anything else quite so serious - it could just as easily have been an effect of the cold air on his lungs which was making his breathing sound wet - but he couldn't help his concern none the less.

"Yes..." He considered. "Well, that's probably all to be expected. You've almost certainly got the beginnings of a mild chill." He theorised. "When Deidre gets back I'll take your temperature, and we'll have to keep a close eye on you for the next few days to make sure you don't develop pneumonia. Your leg is also very likely to get infected, if it is not already so... you really should have sought medical advice as soon as you got back to the village you know..."

His brow knitted together in a frown as he then lifted his brother's trouser leg once more, and carefully rolled the fabric up to just below his right knee to allow the light of the room to afford him a better look, and to prevent any further direct contact of the fabric with the wound.

"Tristan we've been sitting here for over an hour. Why didn't you say something?" He asked.

"I did!" Tristan exclaimed.

"Tristan you made out it was only a scratch." Siegfried exhaled an incredulous breath. "I mean, surely even you could see that you weren't going to be able to keep this to yourself?"

"I thought I might be able to tend to it." Tristan sighed. "It hurt like hell, but it didn't look so bad when it first happened."

"Honestly Tristan!" Siegfried exclaimed.

Looking down at his own leg again now in the bright iridescent glow of the kitchen - which afforded them both a much better view of the mangled lower limb - Tristan realised that Siegfried was indeed right to be incredulous. The risk of infection would have been just too great if he had have left the leg untreated, even with knowing which anti-biotics they kept in the surgery would have been safe for him to take - and he would still have had to explain away the missing medication to his brother. But he felt the need to justify his lack of judgement, if only so he himself didn't have to feel quite so foolish.

"To be honest I don't know what I was thinking." He confessed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and making no effort to try and conceal it now that he didn't have to hide the pain anymore. The pain licked at his leg like spiteful tendrils set free from a flame, and as he looked closer he noticed that his ankle had now also started to swell, and had developed something akin to a strangely blue hew. He took his thigh and ankle between his thumb of one hand and the heal of the other and felt the warm area of flesh around the bite mark beneath his fingers, diagnostic of an inflammation and suggestive of the early stages of infection. The injury may have only been a few hours old, but without treatment in that time it had already began to show signs of just how serious it had the potential to become if he had have left it to fester, and how quickly things could turn with animal bites.

The bacteria in the animal's saliva was what made them potentially nasty. Not only did they carry with them the usual risk of all the common array of normal infections associated with an untreated flesh wound, but the warm, moist, and unsanitary conditions of the animals mouth provided the perfect breeding ground for all manner of quite serious diseases and micro-organisms - some of them such as rabies, tetanus, and other bacteria could leas to blood poisoning and prove potentially fatal.

"The real pain didn't start setting in until my ankle started giving out, and by then I'd been wandering the moor for hours." He explained. "I was frozen and exhausted Siegfried, and when I finally did make it back to civilisation Deidre was so concerned and Callum was so angry with me... It wasn't my intention to ruin their evening! I didn't even know they were going to be there!" He insisted.

Siegfried believed him, but as much as he felt sorry for Deidre and Callum they were not very high on his list of priorities at the moment. He marvelled at how foolish his brother had been, wondering what could have possibly prompted him to come to such a ridiculous decision, and to take such a shocking risk with his own health. He was however also surprised by the strength of character he'd displayed in keeping what had happened to himself for so long, which couldn't have been easy given the amount of pain he would have been in, and putting on such an impressive display of normality - so much so that not even Siegfried had noticed that there was anything seriously amiss.

The frustration, born out of his concern, was still bubbling away within him just beneath the surface however, and now that the initial shock of what had happened had started to wear off he was struggling to keep the angry edge out of his tone. But then all he had to do was to look up at his younger brother, take note of his sad and pain filled eyes, his face a picture of absolute abject misery, and he softened. He rested a reassuring hand against his elbow, keeping it there comfortingly for a couple of seconds, before withdrawing it and returning to his gentle inspection of the leg.

"Whatever I do I always seem to end up messing things up..." Tristan sighed, clearly feeling very sorry for himself. "The one thing I am reasonably good at is covering up my mistakes."

He gasped and flinched away as Siegfried's fingers lightly brushed against the surface of a particularly delicate area of the wound. His brother looked up at him with this and as their gaze met the young man noticed that Siegfried's eyes were not just taking in every small detail of the mass of mangled flesh, but were also accessing him for any other sign of illness.

"Sorry." Siegfried apologised softly, moving his hands away but leaning in a little further to better access the damage.

After a moment he asked;

"What were you doing in the Drovers anyway? I would have thought after the day you've had a drink would be the last thing on your mind."

"Well... I was looking for you actually Siegfried..." Tristan explained. "Or James..." He elaborated in response to his brothers questioning gaze. "Somebody to bring me home.

Joe Hepton offered to drop me back at Scaldale, but it was so out of his way that I didn't like to put him to the trouble." He continued to explain. "He dropped me off in the village, but then I realised that without the car there was no quick way of me getting home. I couldn't face the walk so I hoped that I might find someone in the Drovers who would take me the rest of the way."

Siegfried thought about what his brother must have been through throughout all those hours he'd spent stranded up on Daroby Moor, alone, and realised that he couldn't possibly imagine what it must have been like for him. He was already running a fever, but even so he was nowhere near as sick as he would have been by now if old Joe Hepton hadn't come along and found him when he had. Nobody would have missed him until at least dinner time, and it had been another couple of hours after Deidre had taken Tristan home when he and James had finally arrived at the Drovers for a well-earned drink on their way home from work.

By the time any of them would have realised that he was missing they wouldn't even have had the first idea where to begin to look. It would probably have taken them several hours to even think to search the moors, and several more to find him in the dark - that's if they'd have found him at all.

Callum had still been seething of course, and had consumed quite a skinful of alcohol in the hours since which he'd been left alone to brood, and ponder over his own hurt pride. The alcohol had only fuelled his temper, and so whilst James had decided to stay behind to try and calm him down and prise him away from the alluring comforts of drink, as soon as they'd been able to get enough sense out of him to find out what had happened Siegfried's only priority had been to make sure that his younger brother was alright.

"And you came across Deidre and Callum?" He asked.

Tristan nodded.

"By good fortune for me." He sighed. "Not so much for them it seems."

"Callum will come round." Siegfried explained, reaching out and patting him on the knee reassuringly. "He's not one to bare a grudge. He's just frustrated. He and Deidre haven't exactly had the chance to spend a lot of time together since she arrived. Between you and me I don't think things have turned out quite the way he'd hoped."

It was at this precise moment that the two men heard the front door bang again however and after a minute or so Deidre returned, prompting Siegfried to immediately drop the subject - but the expression upon her face seemed to indicate that she suspected that they'd both been talking about her - or more specifically her and Callum - anyway.

The older Farnham brother looked up at the young woman, who still appeared a little distraught, but the tears had now been wiped from her face, and her expression of dejected misery had been replaced by one of concern for Tristan, and just a bear hint of her forced cheer. She placed the glass bottle of antiseptic and a role of gauze which she'd collected from the consulting room down upon the table in front of her, and leant down in front of Siegfried and Tristan.

"I called around at Doctor Alanson's." She explained. "His wife says he'll come as quickly as he can, but he's not at home at the moment I'm afraid. He's out on a call, and with the weather like it currently is she says it'll probably be another couple of hours at least."

Siegfried sighed. The snow was now coming down thick and fast outside - Deidre herself was already covered in a thick dusting of the frozen marshmallow, which was beginning to dissolve across her shoulders and melt into her hairline - and he knew from personal experience that whatever the estimated waiting time was for a home visit given by doctors and vets in this part of the world, it was customary to add at least another couple of hours on to that at this time of the year. Tristan wasn't going to be able to wait that long in his current condition - at the very least he would need something for the pain long before then, and a course of strong anti-biotics, anti-inflamatories, and a tetanus booster to stop the infection from getting any worse. Time was of the essence when dealing with infection, whether it was in an animal or a human, especially when there was an open wound involved – a lifetime working with livestock and farm animals had taught Siegfried that much.

"Well then little brother, let's get you up off this floor shall we and onto the sofa in the living room... Deidre can you help me?" He asked.

"Of course." She nodded.

"I'd rather go to bed Siegfried." Tristan groaned as his brother wrapped one strong arm around his waist, and Deidre took him by his other arm.

"Not until I've had the chance to take a better look at that leg." Siegfried shook his head, putting a gentle hand to his brother's warm forehead again and frowning as he felt the heat of his skin beneath his cool palm. "That bite needs cleaning and dressing at the very least, at worst you might need stitches, but I'm a little concerned about that fever of yours, it may be nothing, but it could be a sign that the infection has already started spreading to the blood."

Tristan cried out as together they hauled him to his feet, allowing Siegfried to take the bulk of his weight as he found himself unable to put his right foot to the ground without it causing bolts of lightening like pain to travel up the full length of his leg.

"There we go." Siegfried coaxed as he helped to steady him. "Now take it easy, there's a good fellow. How're you feeling?"

"A little dizzy." Tristan confessed. "My legs still feel a little unsteady Siegfried... I don't rightly know if I can make it..."

"Nonsense my boy." He assured him. "I've got you, and we're not going far. You'll be much more comfortable on the sofa. Just take it easy, slow and steady. There's no rush. We'll take things one step at a time."

"I'll get the doors for you." Deidre offered, hurrying ahead of them both.

"There's a good girl." Siegfried smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

**PART 4**

The kitchen door was still propped open but the door to the living room had been closed all evening, and so she held it open for the two men as Siegfried half assisted and half had to carry his little brother into the sitting room and over towards the sofa. It had not been unknown for the youngest Farnham to over play and exaggerate his symptoms of illness in the past, especially when he'd been suffering from one of many a hangover and wanted to make it appear as though he might be sickening for something more serious, and not so self-inflicted, in order to avoid the reproach of his brother - but Siegfried was an expert at reading Tristan and could tell from the obvious difficulty he was having walking, and by his general weakness, that this time there was evidently something very seriously wrong. Tristan had very little strength left by the time Siegfried helped him to the sofa and instructed him to lay down, and as soon as his head made contact with the cushion his older brother placed at the base of his skull his eyes began to close.

"Tristan?" Siegfried called to his younger brother softly as he shook him gently by the shoulder until Tristan opened his eyes again. "Don't go to sleep. Don't forget, that leg still needs seeing to..."

"I'm not..." Tristan sighed, "To be honest Siegfried, I don't think I could sleep now even if I wanted to." He explained. "I feel kind of strange... washed out, but not tired. Perhaps if I wasn't in quite so much pain I would feel differently but..."

Tristan's words were cut short however as he suddenly blanched, swallowing hard.

"Siegfried... I feel sick." He gulped. His voice shook as he spoke and he took an uneasy breath to try and settle his upset stomach, but it still wasn't enough to prevent the rising tide of bile making its way up the back of his throat, nor to suppress the inevitable gag - unable any longer to suppress his nausea.

"Oh God..." Deidre exclaimed as he dry heaved, realising what was about to happen and hurrying off into the kitchen and returning with a bowl just in time as Tristan vomited violently over the side of the sofa.

"Siegfried I really think we ort to get him to hospital." She exclaimed, stroking the sweaty mop of mousy blonde hair away from his clammy forehead as Tristan vomited again and again. His whole body shook as each time he heaved he brought up a little less than before until there was nothing left for him to expel. Finally he fell back against the seat, exhausted.

She was beginning to panic, but Siegfried knew that the severe pain of his injury coupled with the growing infection could account for Tristan's nausea, and so he wasn't overly concerned about it for the moment. His priority was to try and bring his brother's fever down, and to clean his wounds as best he could to minimise the spread of the infection.

He made sure that his brother was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, placing a gentle palm to his warm forehead and shushing him when he groaned, before turning to look at Deidre whose eyes were still upon him expectantly, and shaking his head.

"Ordinarily I would agree with you my dear." He took her aside calmly. "But the snows coming down thick and fast out there now." He explained. "The roads are treacherous. There is no way an ambulance would get through in this weather, and I don't want to take the risk of trying to get him there ourselves. There is no guarantee we would make it, and it's better if we stay put for the time being where it's dry and warm. We have more control over the situation here. I can keep a closer eye on him, and administer any drugs he might need."

"Shouldn't we wait until the doctor to arrives?" Deidre asked.

"In an ideal world yes." Siegfried nodded, quite agreeing with her. He looked down at his brother, trying to access his general condition besides the obvious gaping wound in the back of his leg. He looked so small he thought, not like a man of his thirties but like a little boy. He appeared even paler than he had done in the kitchen, there were dark shadows beneath his slightly sunken eyes and there was a general feeling of malaise about him which Siegfried found somewhat worrisome - but he realised that his recent vomiting spell could account for some of that. He was already dehydrated, the hot tea Deirdre had been plying him with all evening had gone some way to replace the fluids he'd lost throughout the hours the wound had been bleeding, but he couldn't afford to lose anymore. As Siegfried watched his brother Tristan put a shaky hand to his head and groaned, indicative of some degree of headache - which in itself was a sign of dehydration.

He leaned in closer to Deidre, drawing her away from Tristan, and when he spoke again he adopted a hushed tone. "But he needs medical attention now." He explained. "I'm afraid he's not going to be able to wait until Doctor Alanson gets here... whenever that may be... it is becoming increasingly clear that he has the beginnings of a very serious infection. He needs anti-biotics now, and I need to clean the wound to minimise the spread of the poison to his blood."

"Siegfried?" Tristan whimpered, and winced as he struggled to change position. He screwed his eyes shut as he tried without very much success to blot out the pain.

"It's alright little brother, I'm still here." He assured him, making his way back over to the sofa and leaning down beside him. "I'm here. You really must try to rest."

"I'll fetch him a blanket and let Helen know what's going on." Deidre offered. She waited for Siegfried to respond, but upon receiving no answer to the contrary decided to take it upon herself to do as she had offered anyway. She took the bowl, and as she began to make her way towards the door Siegfried turned to look at her and smiled gratefully.

"Yes, thank you my dear." He nodded, already in the process of removing the crochet throw from the back of the arm chair to drape it over his little brother. "Helen should be informed of the situation of course, and an extra blanket would probably help with the shock."

"I'm not in shock." Tristan mumbled.

"You've been through quite an ordeal little brother, of course you're in shock." Siegfried quietly hushed him, taking him gently by his pale wrist and checking his pulse against the second hand on his watch. It was fast but steady, which concerned him slightly – not the steady part, but the rapid heartbeat although not necessarily serious, nor entirely out of the ordinary for someone who'd just been through what he'd been through, could be an indication that the infection was taking hold. Siegfried rubbed his hand across his face in a fraught manner, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

When Deidre had gone, he asked his brother;

"Still dizzy?"

"A little..." Tristan nodded.

Siegfried sighed.

"You've lost a lot of blood." He told him gravely. "And I'm afraid the wound is still bleeding." He explained, as he observed more fresh blood oozing out in a tiny trickle, from between the cracks which had appeared in the old clots of dried blood.

He carefully undid the first few buttons of Tristan's shirt with this, and, rummaging around in the depths of his jacket pocket, pulled out his stethoscope which until now Tristan had been unaware his brother still carried on him. He realised that this must have been where Siegfried had stuffed it as he made his way home with James at the end of their final house call of the evening.

Tristan shivered as the cold, metal plate made contact with his warm skin. He waited whilst Siegfried listened carefully to the sound of his heart and lungs for a moment, a concerned frown painted upon his face as he appeared to linger rather too long over the area of Tristan's heart. His younger brother watched him anxiously as he moved the plate in one direction and then the other, before finally standing back and removing the buds of the stethoscope from his ears.

"Anything the matter?" Tristan asked.

"There's some fluid on your lungs and you're tachycardic." He explained. "Probably caused by the blood loss, and not aided by the shock. Nothing to worry about little brother." He patted him gently on his good leg in an attempt to reassure him. "It'll probably pass soon. Just lay still for a while and I will check it again when you are a little more settled."

A few minutes then passed between them in relative silence, as Siegfried set about performing a more thorough examination of his brother's leg, whilst Tristan's eyes began to close for a second time. He seemed quite unable to keep them open, and for some time Siegfried suspected that he'd probably fallen asleep.

It was only when they heard the sound of footsteps in the hall about ten minutes later and Siegfried turned around just in time to be able to help Deidre as she came into the room bearing a pile of blankets, spare pillows, and a hot water bottle, that Tristan opened his eyes again and the older Farnham brother realised that he'd merely been dozing - teetering on the cusp of consciousness, unable to resist his body's need for sleep, but in too much discomfort to completely resign himself to the oblivion which beckoned to him. Deirdre had also brought with her a fresh bowel - in case Tristan was sick again.

"Oh my dear," he exclaimed as he jumped up to help, taking the load from her and placing it down upon the armchair opposite where his brother was laid up, "you really are an angel in mortal form."

"Thank you Deidre." Tristan smiled weakly.

"It's no problem." Deidre returned the gesture.

"Did you manage to speak to Helen?" Siegfried asked conversationally, trying to keep the discourse between them as casual and matter of face as possible, as he then set about wrapping another blanket around Tristan and gently replacing the cushion with a pillow beneath his head. Deirdre slipped the hot water bottle underneath the blanket at his side.

She nodded.

"Yes," she answered, "she was very worried, understandably. I had to stop her trying to get out of bed. I don't think I could have done if she'd physically been able to, but I've managed to pacify her for now by assuring her that there's really nothing more she could do even if she could get up, and I've promised to keep her informed."

"Well thank God you managed to stop her." Siegfried considered, as he went back to carefully examining Tristan's leg. "The last thing we need in this house at the moment is poor old Helen doing herself any more damage... I wonder my dear," he thought out loud as he accidently pressed down a little too hard on the inflamed tissue surrounding the area of the bite and Tristan cried out. He looked up and exchanged a silent apologetic glance with his younger brother, observing how hot the flesh was becoming, "would you mind just keeping an eye on Tristan whilst I nip out for a moment?" He asked her. "I need to grab a few supplies from the consulting room."

"Of course not." Deidre replied.

"Oh come on Siegfried," Tristan scoffed, "I don't think I'm as frail as all that that you can't leave me alone for a few minutes." He grimaced again as he tried to sit up and Siegfried immediately placed his hands upon his brothers shoulders and gently lowered him back down onto the sofa.

"Tristan, just try to take it easy." He ordered him.

"Well you're only going to be in the next room Siegfried," He exclaimed, "not in the next village. Tell me, what harm could you possibly think I could come to? You're within shouting distance for Christ sake?" He asked.

"With the scrapes you always seem to manage to get yourself into I wouldn't put anything past you little brother." He retorted. "Your leg is infected, and you're feverish! I'm not taking any chances!"

Siegfried looked kindly upon Deidre, although she could see the disguised anxiety within his eyes, carefully cached beyond the facade of feigned calm.

He was a good man, she thought. Although his fuse was often short, and he was prone to something of a fiery temper, especially where his brother was concerned, his heart was never anything other than in the right place. He loved Tristan very much, and despite how much they both quarrelled, and one would complain bitterly about the other behind the others back - feigning disapproval or intolerance - it was in moments like this that one could see that they really did love each other. Tristan relied on his older brother a lot more than he would care to admit, and Siegfried, despite all of his protestations, never let him down. She found it all really rather endearing, and, although she would never have thought it possible, it made her love them both all the more.

She smiled as he affectionately brushed her cheek with a gentle finger, before taking one more look at his younger brother and hurrying from the room.

"Oh Tristan, what are we going to do with you?" She asked him in her broad Scottish accent once Siegfried had gone, making her way over and perching herself down on the arm of the sofa beside his head. She ran her fingers soothingly through his mousy blonde hair, and he allowed himself to sink even deeper into the soft pillow Siegfried had given him.

"I don't mean for these things to happen Deidre." He implored her, and yawned, exhaustion evidently beginning to take its toll, but he fought hard against it to try and stay awake. "Honestly I don't..."

"I know you don't Tris." She sighed.

"All this does tend to get rather wearing after the millionth time you find yourself in the same situation." He explained. "I'm fed up Deidre, and Siegfried must be so sick of having to pick up after me all the time."

"I'm sure that's not true." She forced herself to smile.

"Well he goes on about it often enough!" Tristan exclaimed. "And who could blame him? I mean, look at me Deidre, I'm a mess!"

"Oh Tris, it's all talk, you know that." She rubbed at his shoulder in what she hoped would be construed as a gesture of comfort. "How often have you yourself said things you don't mean in the heat of the moment?" She asked him. "He loves you, and you know he'll always scrub up rather well when the chips are really down."

Tristan craned his neck to look up at her. He was by now deathly pale, any colour which had initially remained upon his face when he'd first collapsed had now been drained, and even the rosy flush to his cheeks had started to fade, to be replaced by an unhealthy pale hue.

"Oh, you're right, of course." He conceded.

"Of course I am..." She said, looking down at him, and watching as he allowed himself to be swallowed up by the pillow and blankets which shrouded him. He was doing his best not to move, every tiny jolt set his leg alight with the searing pain again. It felt as though all three layers of skin had been stripped from the limb, and a blow torch taken to what remained of the mangled flesh and tissue. The raw wound remained unprotected from the external elements which irritated and exacerbated the exposed nerves - the cool air of the winter evening quickly dried the blood which still seeped and oozed from many of the smaller puncture marks, forming a flaking and sticky crust on the surface of his leg. She noticed that the usual sparkle was missing from his eyes, and he appeared so incredibly drawn and unusually tired.

"Oh come on Tristan, snap out of it." She implored him. "Feeling sorry for yourself won't help matters much. It's not like you to be defeatist."

"Well, that's where you're wrong Deidre, it's exactly like me." He snapped, rolling over onto his side rather impulsively and letting out a pained hiss as the sudden movement sent another wave of pain shooting up the length of his leg. Several hours of sweat and dirt had by now been given the chance to settle into some of the smaller superficial flesh wounds, let alone the gaping hole in the back of his ankle, and the bacteria in the dogs saliva had caused significant swelling and inflammation around the sight of the injury. Although he had done his best to cleanse it with warm water when he and Deidre had first returned home the pain had prohibited him from doing a thorough enough job of cleaning it. Deidre looked down at him disapprovingly, but rubbed at his shoulder as she waited for the fit to pass. She felt his body, rigid beneath her hand, and tracked the progress of the painful impulse as he slowly began to relax again, before finally going limp at her side.

He lay there for a while, breathing heavily, as he struggled to regain at least some of his lost composure. When he'd recovered slightly he looked up at her, a small but clearly forced smile lifting his drawn features.

"Well, it is today. Alright?" He asked her.

"Alright." She conceded defeat, and he did his best to try and manage something akin to a laugh, which turned into a small, weak splutter.

To Deidre's undisguised relief Siegfried soon returned with a fresh and unopened ball of cotton wool dressing, gauze bandages, and several glass vials of medication. Deidre quickly moved out of the way to allow him more room to manoeuvre, and as she retreated to the relative safety of the armchair he held out a thermometer for his brother to take.

"Here, pop that under your tongue Tristan." He instructed him. "I want to see how bad that fever of yours is. It'll give us a better indication of how advanced the infection is."

"That hasn't been anywhere near a cow's backside has it?" Tristan asked, eyeing the proffered thermometer suspiciously.

"Certainly not!" Siegfried exclaimed, incredulous that his younger brother could even think that it might have been - but he suspected that Tristan's fever had spiked. He was now sweating profusely, and he could tell that he was not completely compos mentis - although still able to hold a conversation, it was with some evident difficulty, and was taking some effort on his part. The raised temperature had clouded his judgment and Siegfried suspected that he was not currently capable of reasoned nor rational thought... if Tristan had ever been capable of those two things in the first place.

"It's from the first aid box in the kitchen." He told him.

"Oh... well that's alright then." Tristan sighed, seemingly sufficiently reassured as he opened his mouth and allowed Siegfried to pop the thermometer underneath his tongue. As he did so Siegfried placed the back of his hand to his brother's forehead and grimaced slightly as he felt the heat still radiating from the flesh beneath – if anything he felt even hotter than the last time he'd checked.

"You're very hot." He hissed, and removed the hot water bottle Deirdre had only recently placed at Tristan's side, replacing it instead with a wet flannel to his forehead. Tristan shivered as the cold water made contact with his skin.

"Please Seigfried, it's so cold in here." Tristan protested, his bottom lip beginning to tremble and his teeth chattering around the glass thermometer as he felt the loss of the hot water bottle. Seigfried considered this for a moment. He weighed up the heat of his evident fever against his shivering form. Although the young man's temperature was actually very high the chill he felt in his bones was very real - the result of a simple biochemical reaction in his brain. He couldn't risk doing anything which would send Tristan's fever shooting up any higher, but at the same time he recognised that the distress he felt at having the hot water bottle taken away from him was indeed genuine. This was a little more than the simple chill one felt with a cold or flu. The sooner they got some anti-biotics into him the better, Siegfried thought.

He did however come to what he thought was quite an amicable compromise. If Tristan kept the cold flannel on his forehead and allowed him to take away one of the blankets he might be able to justify asking Deidre to put just one log on the fire.

He turned to the young woman and when he spoke his voice was a raised whisper, but his tone was characteristically warm despite the dectectable strain.

"Get a fire going would you Deidre?" He asked her, as he took the crochet throw from his brother. "Just one log should be sufficient."

She nodded.

Tristan then watched his brother as he unpackaged a new syringe, holding it up to the light as he began to fill it with the liquid from one of the vials of medication. The clear liquid bubbled in the glass vial.

"What's that?" He asked suspiciously through slightly clenched teeth so as not to dislodge the thermometer.

"Pethadine for the pain." Siegfried explained, placing the syringe down on the table whilst he leant in to take the thermometer from between his brother's pale lips.

"38.8." He frowned as he took the reading.

"Is that bad?" Deidre asked.

"Well," Siegfried considered as he shook the thermometer to restore the mercury to its original state, and gently rolled Tristan's sleeve up. He took a very small pinch of cotton wool and began to swab the upper part of Tristan's arm with antiseptic. "It's high, my dear." He explained. "A healthy person's body temperature is generally considered to be around 37 degrees Celsius, anything between that and 39 degrees is considered to be a low grade fever, so it's currently at the top end of the spectrum. I'm not too worried about it at the moment, but we're going to have to keep a very close eye on it."

Tristan was by now shivering more violently than before. He flinched as he felt the needle pierce his flesh and the rush of liquid into his blood stream. It made his arm ache, but Siegfried evidently wasn't finished yet as he observed him fill the syringe again with the contents of a second vial of medication. Siegfried caught his younger brother watching him as he did this, and smiled.

"I'm just giving you penicillin for the infection, and then a tetanus booster." He explained. "I'm sorry, but the second and third injections are probably going to sting a little more than the first."

Tristan looked up at him, and nodded, albeit somewhat reservedly. He resigned himself to the necessity of having the medication his brother offered, preferring the brief sharp scratch of the needle to the potential complications of blood poisoning or lock-jaw, but there was a silent plea in his eyes for him to at least get it over with quickly. Tristan knew well enough that it was going to hurt, and a lot more than Siegfried made out for that matter. He'd never really liked needles.

"I'll try to make this as quick as I possibly can Tristan." His older brother promised "But you must try to remain still."

He then quickly injected the contents of the second needle into his upper arm muscle, before refilling it with the third and final dose. Tristan clenched his jaw tight and gritted his teeth as he waited for the inevitable sharp prick of the proverbial bee sting. He winced when it finally came, but Siegfried was quick to apply a small ball of cotton wool to the puncture sight, to stem the tiny droplet of blood drawn by the now empty hypodermic, and as he gently began to roll down his sleeve Tristan finally felt able to relax - the series of injections finally over with for now. Although he realised that there would probably be more when the doctor arrived.

"Now Tristan," Siegfried declared once he'd determined that his brother had recovered sufficiently to be able to handle the next necessary step, "I'm going to flush out the wound with saline," He explained, "which is going to hurt I'm afraid, but I might leave the stitching to Doctor Alanson when he comes. He can give you a local, which I of course can't, and I don't want to risk stitching in any infection. I also want him to see the extent of the damage done."

Deidre couldn't help but notice the look of relief upon Tristan's face as his brother said this. She realised that he must have been dreading having to have the torn and shredded tissue stitched without even so much as a local anaesthetic to ease the inevitable agony that the process of binding the two flaps of flesh was likely to cause - the tugging and the pulling of the jagged skin was only likely to aggravate the deep and seeping puncture. Although he would have, without question, gone along with his brother's recommendations, it was of course much better for him in the long term if the procedure could wait until the doctor arrived.

The flushing out of the wound was by no means any more of a pleasant prospect however. Tristan consented, knowing the likely alternative if he did not, but he had to fight very hard not to resist as Siegfried stedied his leg against the arm of the sofa and began to gently pour the clear liquid over the wound. The flushing out of a wound with pure saline was usually a completely painless procedure - but having neglected his leg over the course of the past few hours meant that even the cold evening air caused an intense burning sensation.

The cries and whimpers which emanated from Tristan as the sterile saline solution sloshed over his raw flesh were hard for both his brother and Deidre to have to listen to. The twitch of a tiny nerve in Siegfried's cheek as he clenched his jaw together, all the time never averting his eyes from Tristan's paling face, a clear indication of the distress the sound caused him. As the sterile fluid invaded the wound and permeated through layers of lacerated skin and swollen tissue it stripped away the clots of dried blood, dirt and bacteria - but this was of little consolation to Siegfried.

The maxim 'to be cruel to be kind' did occasionally have it's place in 'The Siegfried Farnham Handbook to Raising a Younger Brother', but there was a vast amount of difference between landing him with a long list of unnecessary and quite unpleasant duties as recompense for another late night spent picking his liver at the Drovers, or teasing him over the breakfast table whilst he nursed the monster of all hangovers, to being the cause of what was, for the record, really quite genuine distress.

His every instinct was, and always had been, to protect his brother. It went against every fibre of his being.

Deirdre couldn't help herself, she was a tender and gentle woman, and at the sound of Tristan's cries she left stoking the small fire and hurried over to his side. She perched herself down on the arm of the seat beside him, taking him firmly by the hand and stroked his damp and sweaty locks tenderly. It only took a matter of seconds, but all three were quite relieved when the procedure was finally over with, and Siegfried finished by rubbing the smallest amount of iodine into the wound before setting about bandaging it as tightly as he could to try and stem the still small trickle of blood until the doctor arrived.

Tristan continued to lie unnervingly still, sweating and shaking, doing his best to try and steady his ragged and laboured breathing, until finally Siegfried tied the final knot on the bandage and he finally felt able to breathe a sigh of relief.

"There we go my good fellow." Siegfried forced a smile, his own voice shaking somewhat as he sat back to admire his handywork. He patted Tristan's good leg warmly. "You just lie there and rest for a while." He soothed.

"I think I'll just pop upstairs and let Helen know that we've done all we can for now." Deirdre breathed, releasing a pent up breath herself which she hadn't even been aware she'd been holing onto. There were several small indentations and graze marks on the back of her small hand where Tristan had dug his nails into her pail skin - but she hadn't even noticed that as it had been happening at the time.

"Of course my dear." Siegfried nodded as be began to clear away the empty vials of medication, bottles of antiseptic and left over roles of bandages before unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck and leaning over Tristan to glean another listen of his chest.

She gently ruffled Tristan's hair as she got to her feet, and Siegfried went back to tidying up the used medical supplies.

"Alright there old fellow?" He asked with a frown, as he looked up from what he was doing to see that Tristan's eyes were now closed, but that his breathing remained slightly laboured.

"Just about, I think, Siegfried." He responded weakly.

"There's a good man." Siegfried sighed with relief.

Deidre stood in the doorway for a second or two, watching the two men, and she smiled - Tristan would be alright, she told herself, Siegfried would continue to take good care of him.

When she'd gone the oldest Farnham brother wiped his hands on one of the damp towels he'd originally brought for Tristan's forehead and wearily took a seat in the armchair opposite.

Tristan appeared to have finally fallen asleep now.

His gaze subconsciously drifted, surveying the room, and when he looked over at his brother again he couldn't help but permit himself a small half-smile. Tristan lay stretched out on the sofa, his breathing still uneven but now much easier in sleep than it had been in wakefulness. He'd worn himself out, Siegfried sighed, but the past hour had rather taken it out of him to. The blood had already started to seep through the several layers of bandages swathed around his brother's leg, and had started to stain the sterile dressings crimson, but he'd done everything he could for now, and all that was left was for him to hope that it had been enough to temporarily hold the wound together until the doctor arrived.

He couldn't bear the thought of having to put Tristan through another ordeal like the one he'd just been through, or one much worse if he found himself forced to stitch the wound himself after all. He took some small comfort none the less from the fact that for now he at least appeared rather more settled and comfortable than he had been, and feeling significantly reassured by this he permitted his own eyes to close, if only for a moment.

The final image he saw before his own head slipped forwards onto his chest was that of his peacefully sleeping brother.


	5. Chapter 5

**PART 5**

Siegfried's breathing slowed, and he too must have fallen asleep. When he opened them again he glanced at the clock - only twenty minutes had passed but he heard the front door open and close, and the sound of muted voices echoed through the empty hallway.

He stood stiffly, stretched, yawned, rubbed his sore and heavy eyes and made his way over to check on Tristan. Finding him still sleeping however he leaned in closer to check on the leg. The deep crimson patch which stained the dressing was now bigger than it had been a few minutes before, and as he gently palpated the tender area Tristan moaned and stirred restlessly.

It didn't look good.

"Sorry old chap." Siegfried whispered, but Tristan remained oblivious to his brother's apology as he slept on. Siegfried wondered what could be keeping the doctor and hoped that he wouldn't be too much longer. The wound now urgently needed stitching. Tristan had lost quite a lot of blood over the course of the past few hours, and Siegfried had come to the conclusion that after all this time it wasn't going to clot of its own accord. It was too deep and too raged and he would continue to lose more until the wound was closed with stitches.

"Shhh, little brother." He simpered as Tristan whimpered and flinched. The sounds of the voices in the hall were getting louder, and Siegfried, worried that they might disturb his brother's rest, headed out to hush the two returning men.

James was helping a rather inebriated Callum out of his coat when he opened the door. The young Scotsman was protesting loudly, as James struggled to free one flailing arm and then the other, whilst also doing his best to quieten him.

"James I am quite capable of removing my own coat!" Callum was saying. "Believe it or not I am a big boy now. I can take care of myself!"

"Really?" James asked him. "You do surprise me Callum, and do you really think that the way you've been carrying on tonight is the way a grown man should behave?"

"Oh, leave me be James!" He moaned.

"No Callum, I will not, and will you keep your voice down! You're going to wake the whole house!" James exclaimed.

Siegfried cleared his throat, and a floorboard creaked underfoot – attracting the two men's attention.

He noticed that Callum's eyes were swollen and bloodshot when he turned, as though he had been crying, but chose to overlook the matter. He was still very angry with his young colleague, but the man was evidently still very upset. They had all been rather stretched of late, perhaps the younger members of the team a little more than most. If Callum and Deirdre hadn't been quite so busy in their respective ways, and therefore able to spend a little more time together, then perhaps Callum wouldn't have had reason to take his frustrations out on Tristan, and his brother's condition might have been spotted much sooner.

Both men opened their mouths to speak simultaneously when they saw Siegfried, one still slightly drunk and acutely aware that he had a lot of explaining to do, and the other only concerned about his friend. Siegfried quickly raised a hand and put a finger to his lips to silence them, and as both men correctly interpreted his signal and backed off slightly he took one more look at his younger brother through the crack in the open door - just to make sure that he could still see the gentle rise and fall of his chest - and drew it quietly closed behind him.

"How's he doing?" James asked.

"Well," Siegfried frowned, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully as he turned to glance at the closed door behind him as though concerned that their hushed voices might carry and disturb Tristan's rest. "He's certainly felt better." He explained. "He's feeling rather sorry for himself, which given the circumstances is only to be expected I suppose... I'm afraid the Butterworth's dog Timmy bit him on a visit earlier this afternoon, the wound is almost certainly infected. He's running a high fever, and in quite bad shape, but things could have been a lot worse."

James looked surprised.

"We're waiting for the doctor now." Siegfried explained. "I've done everything I can for him but he's lost a fair amount of blood and he's in an awful lot of pain."

"I'm sorry Siegfried." Callum apologised, complexion growing a few shades paler - his broad Scottish accent emphasised by the intoxicating effects of the alcohol in his system. "I had no idea he was so ill, if I had known there is no way I would have been so sharp with him."

"Well you didn't exactly give the boy a chance to explain did you Callum?" Siegfried asked. Despite his resolve to remain in control of his anger seeing Callum in his drunken state had left him rather struggling to maintain a calm façade, and if it hadn't been for Tristan sleeping in the next room he would have almost certainly been inclined to come down on him rather harder. "Coming down on top of him like that, taking all your frustrations out on him, it really wasn't on you know!"

"I know..." Callum nodded.

"I mean," He scowled, "I understand your frustrations but it's not exactly Tristan's fault that you and Deidre haven't had the chance to spend enough time together since she arrived."

"I know..." Callum whispered, hands in his pockets and eyes drawn to something of seemingly profound interest to him at his feet. He looked like a naughty schoolboy who'd just been reprimanded by a disapproving Head Master James thought.

"And you really were quite out of order speaking to Deidre in the way you did..." Siegfried continued, "I should bang your heads together the way you've both been carrying on the past few days... you've got a good woman there Callum, anyone lesser would have left Tristan to walk home, even in the state he was in!"

"I know... I know, and I am genuinely genuinely sorry Siegfried." Callum explained. "It's just that my pride had been hurt by something Deidre had said, and seeing Tristan standing there, well, I don't know, something in me snapped... sometimes it just feels as though the whole world and his mother is against us at the moment!" He paused, hiccupped, and looked slightly sick for a moment, but took a deep breath and managed to regain control of the alcohol fuelled nausea. "But believe me you can't make me feel any worse than I already do!"

"Well you know Callum," Siegfried sighed, "if you're going to let such petty little squabbles between the two of you cloud your judgement, then that really does lead me to wonder about the effect this is likely to have on your professional conduct?"

"What is that supposed to mean Siegfried?" Callum asked, eyes suddenly clouding with a drunken thunder which was uncharacteristic and unbecoming of a man of such usually mellow character - but possibly not wholly unexpected considering the skin full he had consumed. His temper was precariously frayed.

"Well we can't risk you allowing your personal life to interfere with your professional relationship with the clients can we?" Siegfried asked, seemingly oblivious, or perhaps entirely unconcerned by the change in Callum's mood. "We have a reputation to uphold within this district."

"I can assure you Siegfried I would never allow anything like that to happen!" The young man exclaimed.

"Well perhaps..." He considered, "but you might not necessarily be aware of it..."

"Look, just what exactly are you getting at Siegfried?" Callum growled.

"Nothing my dear boy, absolutely nothing at all, just that maybe a couple of days off couldn't hurt at the moment..."

"A couple of days off?"

Callum suddenly stopped. He faltered, unsure of the significance of what he had just heard. James watched his friend's expression morph from one of intense anxiety into one of hope, before switching back to confusion again.

"You're owed some holiday aren't you?" Siegfried asked him.

"Well yes...but..." Callum faltered.

"But nothing my boy." He shook his head. James looked from Callum and then back to Siegfried again, and smiled. He knew what the older man was getting at, even if Callum did not. He'd known Siegfried long enough now, and had himself been on the receiving end of the other man's generosity on more than one occasion. His temper may have been a fierce one when provoked, but his heart was just as big as his wrath could be sudden and unpredictable. "If tonight has taught us anything," Siegfriede continued, "it should be how over stretched and overworked we all are at the moment. Perhaps you and Tristan a little more than the rest of us. We have been rather guilty of putting upon you both recently."

"You know I don't see it like that Siegfried, I like the work." Callum insisted.

"I know you do Callum," Siegfried laughed good naturedly, "we all do. Lord knows with the hours we work and the pittance we get paid we wouldn't be here if we didn't, but as much as one loves the job they do they simply must find the time to relax... Now, Deidre's here for another week isn't she?" He asked, almost as though in an afterthought.

"Yes..." Callum nodded.

"Of course you'll understand that we can't give you the whole week off," Seigfried considered, in part conferring with his two younger colleagues and in part thinking out loud to himself as he considered their options carefully, "no, that would leave the rest of us spread far too thinly, especially with Tristan out of action for a while..." He thought, "but, let's see, how would you like to take the end of the week off?"

"Seriously Siegfried?" Callum asked, unable to conceal the small smile which crept across his face in relief - both for the fact that he wasn't about to lose his job, and the knowledge that there were now a few days off looking set to come his way in the not too distant future.

"Well I would hardly be asking you if I didn't mean it, would I?" Siegfried smiled.

"Yes, but how will you cope?" He asked.

"Well, we'll find a way Callum, it's only a couple of days." The older man dismissed the younger man's concerns with a casual wave of his hand. "Tristan obviously isn't going to be of much use for the next few days, but there's me, and there's James. I'm sure we can cope without you for that long."

"Well I never thought I'd feel so happy to learn that I'm not entirely indispensable." Callum grinned. "Siegfried I don't know how to thank you. I really am enormously grateful!"

"Don't mention it my boy!" Siegfried smiled. "We could hardly have had you moping around the surgery for the next few weeks could we? A depressed vet hardly looks good in front of the clients does it?"

"No I suppose not..." Callum agreed. "Look, I really am so enormously sorry about Tristan, I'd like to apologise to him if that's alright? May I see him?"

"Of course." Siegfried nodded. "He's resting at the moment, but do go in, I was just about to make a pot a tea, would you like one? Or perhaps a strong black coffee might be more appropriate?" He chuckled, still smelling the sweet aroma of stale alcohol on Callum's breath. This was a lie of course, the thought of making tea hadn't even entered into his mind until now, and he had no idea why he'd suddenly suggested it - but he supposed that it would give him something to do while Callum looked in on Tristan, and so he decided to go along with the idea all the same.

"Thank you Siegfried," Callum nodded, "but tea would be grand."

"Very well." Siegfried nodded. "How about you James?" He asked.

"Oh, no thanks Siegfried." James smiled with a shake of his head. "I'm rather tired actually. I think I fancy an early night if you don't mind, and I really ought to check on how Helen is doing."

"Oh of course you must James, of course you must!"

"You'll be staying here tonight I take it?" James asked.

"Yes," Siegfried nodded with a frown, rubbing the back of his ear,, "I'll give Caroline a call to let her know, but I think I'd better stay. I want to be here to hear what Doctor Alanson has to say, and it's doubtful that Tristan will be in any fit state to let him know what I've given him when he finally arrives. Knowing that boy's luck he'd end up getting himself an overdose!"

"Just out of interest Siegfried what have you given him?" James asked. He had of course received the very best education in the practices of vetenary medicine, and the array of drugs which could be used to treat pain and infection in livestock and common domestic pets. He was aware that whilst some drugs were not compatible with the human physiology – which although similar in some ways to that of many other mammals, was also significantly different enough to render many common medications dangerous if they were introduced into a man's bloodstream – there were those which were suitable for both animal and human.

The key was knowing which drugs were safe, and which were likely to prove potentially fatal, as well as correctly gaging the right dose to give. Enough had to be given to provide sufficient relief of symptoms, without overdosing the patient. As vets they faced this quandary everyday but were used to working with creatures either significantly smaller or significantly larger than the average man. Siegfried was a brilliant vet however, not only a horse specialist meaning that he was responsible for the health and wellbeing of some of the most financially valuable animals in the district, but also a rather adept scientist and skilled mathematician. James saw no reason why he wouldn't have been more than capable of turning his skills and knowledge to the practice of human medicine, and was quite curious to know the course of treatment he had followed in his brother's case. James didn't think he would have had the confidence to take charge of the situation as Siegfried had done if he'd been in his place, but then Siegfried was far more experienced than he.

"Well," The older man sighed, a little thrown by James' question. The ethical concerns surrounding a vet treating any man were very rarely voiced out loud, but each of them knew that it was deeply frowned upon, and at worse could lead to a lot of trouble for the individual. James realised that Siegfried could have construed his curiosity as him questioning his professional integrity.

"Of course I wouldn't recommend that as vets we turn our hand to the practices of treating people as a matter of course," he explained, "there being considerable differences between man and animal which we are all well aware of, but the poor boy was in a considerable amount of pain, and I am damned if I am going to stand back and watch my little brother suffer!" He exclaimed, his tone growing ever more heated as he felt pressured to justify his actions. "God knows how long Doctor Alanson is going to be... or if he's even in the area. At this time of the year he could have been called to attend a patient anywhere within a ten mile radius of here, and nobody has any way of getting in contact with him! Meanwhile Tristan is still bleeding, and in pain! Well, it's just not good enough James, not good enough at all!"

James deduced wisely that Siegfried's emotions were obviously still very raw, and his temper a fragile force to be reckoned with. He had managed to keep a rein on his anger, and even exercise restraint and forgiveness in Callum's presence, which in James' opinion had been nothing short of admirable under the circumstances. He wasn't sure he could have exercised the same level of self-control had it been him in the same situation. He was an only child, he knew nothing of what it felt like to have a younger brother to look after, but growing up he'd always dreamed of having a sibling or siblings someday, and he thought that he could possibly imagine what it might be like if he tried to put himself in Siegfried's shoes. He had struggled as it was to conceal his own annoyance when a rather inebriated Callum had returned to the Drover's just as James had been about to leave, and had continued to drink himself into an intoxicated stupor.

"I understand Siegfried, and I doubt any of us would condemn you for doing the best by Tristan." James assured him, trying to reassure him that he had meant no criticism by his asking. "If I was in Tristan's shoes I'm sure I would not discriminate if I were in the presence of a vet or a doctor," he explained, 'I would just be grateful to whoever was on hand for helping me and thankful that they knew what they were doing. As vets we do all at least have a basic grasp of the differences between human and animal anatomy. There's absolutely no reason why you could not, nor should not have done everything you could for Tristan given the nature of the circumstances. I was mealy curious, that's all."

"Yes... of course... I am sorry James." Siegfried hesitated, realising his mistake, and he smiled. He'd allowed his emotions to run away with him, and as a result he had spoken out of turn, and inadvertently allowed himself to take his frustrations out on the wrong man. He sucked in a sharp breath, and was quiet for a time. When he finally continued to speak it was in a hushed and apologetic tone, and significantly less defensive.

"I'm a little overwrought..." He apologised. "I shouldn't take it out on you. Please forgive me."

"I quite understand." James nodded.

"Obviously it's been a difficult one, as you can imagine," Siegfried considered after a moment, "as I'm limited with what we have on hand here at the surgery that I've been able to give him, but I've given him penicillin to treat the infection in his leg, and a low dose of pethidine for the pain, but that should wear off in the next couple of hours, at which point he will probably need some morphine to get him through the night. I've also given him a tetanus booster, just to be on the safe side."

He was however secretly beginning to worry that this may not have been enough and that the severity of the injury went far beyond what they would be able to carry on treating at home. He was concerned that Tristan might have little choice but to go to hospital - not that he was currently prepared to voice his concerns out loud. He would reserve judgement until Doctor Alanson arrived, but he'd hoped that Tristan might have shown some small sign of improvement by now. The Pethadine should have kicked in but apart from the fact that he continued to sleep relatively soundly, which was due only in part to the low dose of opiate in his blood stream, his temperature was still up, he was deathly pale and sweating, but he had still been shivering slightly beneath the blanket when Siegfried had last looked in on him.

James observed the look on Siegfried's face, and it worried him.

"It's bad isn't it?" He asked his friend.

"Yes James, I'm afraid it is." The older man replied.

"How bad is he do you think?" James pressed him, but he could already tell by the grave expression on Siegfried's face that the situation wasn't good.

"Well," Siegfried shook his head, "I'm not a doctor James, and I'd much prefer to reserve judgement until Doctor Alanson arrives... all I can say," He continued cautiously, "is that the wound is deep, Tristan has received a large injection of bacteria into his bloodstream from the dogs saliva, he didn't receive treatment until quite a few hours afterwards which means that any infection almost certainly has a few hours advantage on us, he is already beginning to show signs of the poison having spread to his blood, and the wound is still bleeding."

"I see." James sighed.

It was at that moment that both men heard the sitting room door close behind them and turned to look up to see Callum, his expression one of mixed guilt and concern. Siegfried glanced at him and observed his posture, his head and shoulders hanging slightly lower than usual in a dejected stance, and one hand thrust limply into his pocket. His eyes were still sunken but the swelling had gone down and they had lost their blood red and blotchy hew, but he looked markedly paler than he had done a few minutes before. He glanced back once at the closed door behind him, before turning again to Siegfried.

"Is he awake?" Siegfried asked, but Callum shook his head.

"He looks so ill." He mused, his face scrunched up into a concerned frown. "He hardly moved once the whole time I was in there, not even when I called his name... it's as though he didn't even hear me... he just carried on sleeping."

The young man seemed a little confused - the last time he had seen Tristan he'd appeared fine, perhaps a little pale and slightly disorientated but perfectly lucid, and Callum couldn't recall having observed him limp. There had been nothing suggestive of the injury he'd sustained, carefully concealed beneath his trouser leg, nor to indicate the infection that he'd been incubating. He could only presume that when the symptoms had struck they had come on suddenly and hit him hard - but Callum still couldn't reconcile himself with the fact that had he not been so quick to jump down Tristan's throat then there would probably have been some small sign of sickness about him. Deirdre had noticed something was wrong immediately. She had taken one look at the exhausted man - whom even Callum had to concede had looked entirely done in - observing the faint blueish tinge to his skin after hours spent stranded up on the moors, and feeling the cold of his hands and fingers as icy blood flooded his veins, but without any form of medical training she had no way of knowing what to look out for. The poison had slowly invaded Tristan's system over the course of the past few hours and Callum couldn't help but feel as though if he hadn't allowed himself to become so caught up in his own anger and frustration then he might have spotted something where she had not, and the infection could have been caught a little sooner.

Siegfried nodded.

"Yes… well…" He responded. "That's partly down to the drugs I've given him to help him sleep and make him feel a little more comfortable… the pethidine I have given him for the pain is probably making him feel a little sleepy, which is what I had hoped for," he explained, "but most of it Callum is down to the fact that he is very sick. The bite is deep, and as I've just been telling James here it's still bleeding. I have done everything I can, I have flushed the wound out with saline but I am reluctant to close it until the doctor gets here as I don't want to run the risk of stitching in any infection. We have already established however that it is unlikely to clot of its own accord and so will continue to slowly bleed until such a time that it can be closed. Perhaps however sleep is the best thing for him at the moment."

"Siegfried I can't help feeling that this is all my fault." The young man sighed.

Siegfried frowned. "How do you make that one out Callum?" He asked. "You didn't force the Butterworth's dog to bite him, or wish for his car to break down up on the moor did you?"

"Well... No..." Callum faltered in thought. "But..."

"The way I look at it now Callum," Siegfried stopped him, "is that it is no longer a question of who is to blame, if indeed it ever was. Tristan must take some responsibility for actively trying to conceal what happened to him - although Lord knows why he'd have wanted to - but we all spent time with him this evening and so therefore are all guilty of missing the early warning signs. Deirdre was the one who brought him home and so therefore the one who spent the most time with him, and I myself spent a good hour with him before he collapsed and didn't notice anything amiss. I've always thought Tristan to be quite the open book, but I've got to say, on this occasion, he concealed his pain rather well. As far as I can see the only person truly above reproach in this matter is James."

James looked up, swallowing hard at the mention of his name. He wouldn't actually say that Siegfried was entirely correct on this point - he could after all have done more for his friend when they'd heard what had happened to him that afternoon. He could have returned home with Siegfried, to make sure that Tristan was alright, and dragged a sulking, stinking Callum along with him rather than staying to keep watch whilst he continued to poison his blood and pickle his liver as he drowned his sorrows in the sickly sweet scented liquor. It had of course been on Siegfried's suggestion that he had stayed, but he hadn't put up much resistance in this regard, and he was after all a man with a mind of his own.

But Tristan had got himself into numerous scrapes before. He was like a cat with nine lives, seemingly always bouncing back from the brink of potential disaster without so much as a scratch to show for his ordeal. Nobody had had any reason to think that this time would be any different. Indeed if it hadn't been for the Butterworth's dog, Timmy, James had no doubt that Tristan would have recovered rapidly from his ordeal. Once home he would have changed out of his wet clothes, bathed in hot, soapy water, revelling in Deidre's attentive care whilst savouring a glass of something warming - perhaps a whiskey, or even partaking of a glass of Siegfried's best brandy - as he felt the pleasant burn of the liquid as it trickled down the back of his throat, and the tingling of his fingers and toes as the blood was slowly restored to his freezing extremities.

He had been surprised to discover just how far removed the reality of the situation had been from his imaginings.

"So what do you plan to do about the bleeding?" James asked Siegfried.

"Well," He considered, "I'll just have to play it by eye I suppose James... but if the doctor doesn't arrive soon I will have to apply a second layer of bandages, and if that doesn't work then I'll have no choice but to completely re-dress the leg as the blood has already started to show through.

I don't know what we're going to do about the turbuculian testing now though." He thought to himself out loud. "Tristan can't go now, that's for sure. He's going to need time to recuperate. You certainly can't leave now James with Helen laid up as she is, and I'm needed here. Callum's only just come back, so it wouldn't be fair to ask him to go out for a second time..."

"Well, actually, I've just been thinking about that Siegfried," Callum explained, "and if Deidre can get some more time off work I've been wondering whether that might not actually be the answer to some of our problems."

"Deidre come with you you mean?" Siegfried asked.

"I'll have to speak to her first of course." He emphasised, making it quite clear that his intentions were not yet set in stone, but that he might seriously consider taking Tristan's place in Ireland if it meant the possibility of spending some much needed time away from Scaldale with Deidre. He had no idea whether after his behaviour tonight she would even consider the suggestion a viable possibility, he had said some very hurtful and inexcusable things to her and couldn't be sure that he even still had a relationship to speak of, but he hoped that she loved him enough to try and put his appalling display of drunken idiocy behind her - because despite his words of earlier he loved her very much indeed, and the thought of losing her now filled him with dread.

The work was hard, and meant long hours. It would mean going out very early in the morning, and returning late at night smelling of antiseptic and animal faeces. He would be cold, hungry, and tired - and he knew this might lead him to bouts of short temper. He wasn't even entirely sure that this would leave them much better off than they were now - but Deidre wasn't going to be with him the whole time. She would need to return to Edinburgh to work, and there were always going to be weekends, which without his usual additional commitments to surgery hours would be theirs in their entirety to do as they pleased.

"After my behaviour tonight she may not even want to come with me." He considered gravely. "I have a lot of making up to do."

"Well, at least you have sense enough left to realise that much." Siegfried said. He glanced up the stairs, wondering whether Deidre was still with Helen or whether she had herself now retired to bed for the evening. He couldn't imagine that she had already gone to sleep - she had been so worried about Tristan - but to his knowledge she had not been down in over half an hour. He wondered whether she was aware of Callum's return home and was doing her best to avoid him.

"You might start as you mean to go on." He advised him. "Deirdre's upstairs."

Callum followed Siegfried's gaze and swallowed hard. A look of anxiety came over his face and both men wondered what he was afraid of - whether it was her wrath, or her reaction to his behaviour which frightened him more.

"You have to face her sooner or later Callum." Siegfried smiled. "And if you do your best to make it up to her I might be persuaded to consider your offer. Deirdre's a good woman, I don't like to see her upset."

Callum struggled to return the older man's gesture. A very small smile - so slight that it might be misconstrued as a grimace, or even overlooked completely - curled the corners of his lips.

He looked like an animal caught in headlights James thought, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He glanced from James to Siegfried nervously for reassurance, but after a brief moment of weakness - during which time he looked to be considering whether to go upstairs and face the woman he loved or run away - he bravely took a deep breath and he nodded.

"On second thoughts I think I'd better skip that tea." He gulped. His voice sounded strained, stifled by the lump in his throat.

Siegfried nodded, quite understanding.

"And I'd better check on Helen Siegfried if you don't mind." James added as he too dismissed himself. "I'll be down to see Tris when the doctor has left. Best let him rest for now." He nodded.

Siegfried lingered at the bottom of the stairs as he watched the two men ascending to the upper levels of the house. Callum looked anxiously back at James, who placed a hand upon the small of his friend's back and propelled him firmly up the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**PART 6**

When they turned the corner of the staircase and disappeared Seigfried breathed a sigh and blew it out through inflated cheeks, before making his way into the kitchen. After hovering over the stove for a couple of minutes however he finally decided that he couldn't stomach the hot, sweet liquid. The thought of the shrivelled leaves stewing in warm water made him feel slightly sick - his own stomach had already started somersaulting with anxiety, and so he instead settled for a glass of water and returned to his brother's side.

Tristan was tossing and turning upon the sofa, the sweat dripping from his hair as he cried out in his sleep. Siegfried quickly hurried over and put the palm of his hand to his brother's forehead. He was relieved to find that he was no warmer than he had been the last time he'd checked, but his cheeks were still flushed and so he re-soaked the wash cloth sitting in the bowl of cold water Deirdre had left upon the side table, before wringing it out and placing it to his brother's forehead. At one point Siegfried heard his brother call out his name amid his confused ramblings, and so he squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's alright Tristan, I'm here." He soothed.

As he was no hotter Siegfried theorised that the violent attack was probably the result of a fever induced nightmare, and looking at the glass of water he had hurriedly placed down upon the small table beside the armchair opposite he reached out for it and gently shook his brother awake.

"Tristan..." He whispered, "Tristan..."

The young man whimpered quietly.

"Shhh," Siegfried soothed him, "shhh! It's alright little brother. I'm here."

Tristan stopped flailing and his eyes opened a crack - the lids tired and swollen.

"Siegfried?" He asked.

"Yes little brother, it's me." Siegfried somehow found the emotional composure within himself to force himself to smile. "It's alright, you were dreaming." He explained. "The fever's unsettling your sleep. We need to try and bring it down before Doctor Alanson arrives. Here, take a sip of this."

Siegfried held out the glass of water for Tristan with one hand, and with the other helped guide him towards it, gently lifting his head. As his lips made contact with the edge of the glass Tristan supped gratefully on the cold liquid, feeling the rising tide of neausea as it hit his stomach, but compelled to carry on drinking by his fever fuelled thirst. He coughed weakly, and then spluttered and choked as the action caused a small trickle of water to enter his lungs. Siegfried removed the glass immediately and waited for the fit to subside, when upon he gently lowered his brother's head back down onto the arm of the sofa.

Tristan was asleep again before it even made contact with the pillow, but his sleep remained unsettled.

"Oh little brother," Siegfried sighed sadly to himself, "how do you manage to get yourself into such scrapes?"

...

"What have you given him?" Doctor Alanson asked, as he pulled Siegfried aside a few hours later. The doctor had indeed finally arrived, but it hadn't been until the early hours of the morning. James, Callum and Deidre had been tactful enough to remain upstairs throughout that time, and he hadn't heard any further shouting emanating from Callum and Deidre's room and so presumed that the two of them had finally managed to make it up with each other. Siegfried hadn't left his brother's side. He'd sat in the armchair opposite, intermittently getting up to offer comfort when the sleep terrors become too unbearable, and returning to the kitchen for fresh cold water to soak the cloth in for Tristan's forehead.

He'd had to change his brother's dressing twice in that time, but by the time that Doctor Alanson arrived he'd been relieved that the flow of blood from the wound appeared to finally be showing signs of stemming. The bleed had been slow, occurung over the course of the past few hours, and Siegfried realised that in a strange twist of fate the time Tristan had spent stranded out on the freezing moors had in fact saved him from further blood loss by slowing the rate of the bleed. Bloody bandages always gave the impression that a wound was bleeding far more profusely than it was, due to the nature of the bodily fluids to seep along the length of the fibres. Even so though Siegfried had been relieved to watch as the doctor carefully tied off the last of the sutures to his brother's leg, before finally standing back and admiring his handiwork and turning his attention to assessing the young man's general condition.

"Well," He considered thoughtfully, "I've given him Pethadine for the pain, plus penicillin, and a tetanus booster."

"Very good, very good," The doctor smiled approvingly, "well Siegfried, it seems as though I couldn't have done much better myself even if I had have been here."

"I would have obviously preferred not to have had to to make that call, but he's been asleep for a lot of the time." The eldest Farnham brother explained, knowing in his heart that in reality he'd been too emotionally involved to approach the situation with any degree of objectivity. He'd done the best he could under the circumstances, and by the grace of God everything appeared to have worked out all right on this occasion, but it was as much down to luck and his ability to remain calm and take control of the situation as it was to his years of experience as a vetenary surgeon. If the wound had of been any deeper or if Tristan had spent any longer stranded out on Daroby moor then they could have so easy been looking at an entirely different outcome. Despite Doctor Alanson's approval he was not a qualified doctor, and the drugs he'd had at his disposal had been very limited. "He's been very unsettled though." He explained.

Doctor Alanson looked from Siegfried, and then back down at Tristan lying on the sofa before him. He took in the man's pale complexion and flushed cheeks, the hair plastered to the top of his head with sticky sweat. He thought about the small amount of fluid he'd heard fizzing in the young man's lungs, and hoped that it wouldn't become infected and turn into pneumonia. It was true that his fever was indeed high, although not currently dangerously so, but it was evidently enough to cause him significant distress and to disturb his sleep.

He sighed gravely, and nodded, taking a syringe from his black leather bag and filling it with a few millilitres of clear fluid from a small vial of medication. Siegfried felt sorry for his brother as the doctor emptied the contents of the hypodermic into a vein in his arm, and Tristan grimaced as for the fourth time that evening he felt burning fluid mix with his blood. He would be glad when the day was finally over, he thought, and they could all get some much needed sleep - he somehow doubted that he would get much though. Tristan had been though absolute hell, and with anxiety still plaguing him Siegfried to knew that the days events had been the perfect cocktail to cause insomnia.

"I've just given him a mild sedative to help him rest," Doctor Alanson explained quietly, "and I'll prescribe him a course of strong anti-biotics and painkillers. The wound isn't particularly big, but it is very deep. He should remain where he is for tonight. I've stitched and re-dressed the wound but I'm reluctant to move him whilst he's comfortable. You can help him upstairs in the morning, and he will need complete bed rest for the next few days. Let me know straight away if the fever appears to be getting any worse. He'll probably be reluctant at first but make sure that he gets up and moves around every few hours, and then he should be ready to come down and join you on the sofa within the week. Just makes sure that he keeps the leg elevated whilst resting at all times."

"What about the tachycardia?" Siegfried asked.

"I heard it," Doctor Alanson nodded, "but I don't think it's anything to be too concerned about at the moment. It's very mild, and I suspect that it will probably fix itself in the next few hours, but I will call around to check on him again tomorrow just to be on the safe side. The pain he was in has caused him to hyperventilate over the course of the past few hours, he probably wasn't even aware of it, but I suspect that that, coupled with the stress of what happened to him, is the most likely cause. He should sleep now throughout the night, but if he's still uncomfortable when he wakes up you can give him another 10mg of morphine, and anti-inflamatories should also help with the pain, and start to bring the fever down. I take it you're ok to give him the injection if he needs it?" He asked.

Siegfried nodded.

"The tablets I've prescribed should be enough to take the edge off any residual pain after that." He explained. "Try and avoid giving him any more morphine after tomorrow if you can avoid it, but if you feel as though he needs it he should be alright on a low dose for the next few days."

"Thank you Harry." Siegfried smiled, as the doctor took a bottle of prescription medication from his bag and scribbled something down on the front of the label. He tore a page from his prescription note pad, copied the words from the label underneath a short instructive note and handed them both to Siegfried.

"There's enough anti-biotics in that bottle to keep him going for the next couple of days." He explained, "And a prescription for some more when he's finished with those, as well as for the painkillers and some anti-inflamatories. Someone will need to collect them from the chemist for him tomorrow."

"I'll ask either James or Callum to pick them up for him whilst they're out on their rounds." Siegfried nodded, as the doctor, having now completed his examination, made his way towards the sitting room door and he followed him out. "Thank you so much for coming Harry."

"I'm only sorry I couldn't get here any sooner Siegfried." The doctor apologised. "But I can see that he was in more than capable hands."

Siegfried showed the doctor to the front door and as he opened it an icy breeze invaded the house. Harry Alanson hadn't even had chance to finish putting his coat on before the wind whipped up around his ankles, making him shiver.

"It's a fowl night tonight." He commented, as he wavered on the threshold. "Coldest night of the year so far I'd be willing to bet."

"I won't disagree with you on that one Harry." Siegfried agreed, and it made him think about Tristan being forced to spend the night stranded up on the moor. If Joe Hepton hadn't spotted his broken down car when he had and had the good sense to go looking for him then the chances were that he would still have been there now. There'd have been no possibility of finding him in the dark and in this appalling weather, and in his compromised state he would have been even more vulnerable to the elements. By the time any of them had have found him it would have almost certainly been too late. The prospect was such a distressing one that it didn't bare thinking about.

"...Well, hopefully the wife will have something nice and hot waiting for me when I get in." Siegfried suddenly realised that the doctor was still talking and turned back to look at him - trying to give the impression that he'd been listening, and not wanting to appear rude. "A mutton stew and dumplings perhaps, or a plate of roast beef and potatoes. You eaten anything yet Siegfried?" He asked pleasantly.

Siegfried shook his head. "No." He responded. "To be honest Harry I'm not particularly hungry."

"You must eat Siegfried." The doctor urged him. "You won't be doing Tristan any favours if you run yourself into the ground."

"I'll be alright Harry." Siegfried smiled. He knew that there was some bacon left over in the larder, and he thought that he might fry it up with a couple of eggs later. Now he came to think about it he was beginning to feel rather hungry, but he didn't really fancy much else. "Don't stand around in the cold. You hurry on home, and give my regards to your good wife."

"Will do." The doctor tipped his hat to Siegfried respectfully as he left. "Goodnight Siegfried."

"Goodnight." The vet chorused back, closing the front door behind him and hesitating in the hallway, before making his way over to the table where the telephone sat in order to call Caroline - she had told him that she was going to wait up for his call.

It was such a horrible evening that he would have felt sorry for the doctor having to make his way home through the cold and the snow, if the man didn't only live next door.


	7. Chapter 7

**PART 7**

Caroline called around early the following morning, just after James and Siegfried had managed to help Tristan upstairs. It had been painful watching the young man struggle – even holding onto the banister and with Siegfried supporting him on one side and James from behind it had been clear that every step was agony for him. The morphine had taken enough of an edge off the pain that he'd managed to get a couple of hours sleep after Doctor Alanson had left the night before, although he'd remained restless and it had become clear when he'd awoke that morning that the painkillers had already started to wear off. Siegfried had given him another dose of morphine, but it hadn't had chance to take effect before they'd started to move him and every whimper which tore through the man had wrenched at Deirdre's heart. She could tell that his brother's suffering was very difficult for Siegfried to have to watch too. He'd done his best to encourage and reassure him, speaking softly into Tristan's ear whenever he paused and faltered on a step – too exhausted to go any further – but he still had a raging fever and she wasn't entirely sure of how lucid and aware of his surroundings he really was.

Callum had offered to take morning surgery, and so she had been busy preparing the breakfast when Caroline arrived. She couldn't help but smile when she heard the key turn in the lock, and Siegfried's wife appeared in the kitchen beside her.

"Oh, Caroline." She exclaimed as she wiped her greasy hands on her apron and the two women embraced. Having spent much of Siegfried and Caroline's engagement up in Edinburgh - except for the few days she'd had off in order to attend the wedding – they hadn't had much to do with each other, but during the little time she had spent with her she had come to realise that she liked her very much. She was down to earth, and kind, and easy to get along with. Sometimes you could know a person for years and never connect with them on any meaningful level, and then there were those who only had to walk into the room and it seemed as though you were instantly firm friends – the two women had connected straight away.

"Deirdre." Caroline smiled, her concern for her young brother-in-law mirroring Deidre's own. It was evident by her tired eyes – masked by a very thin smattering of makeup – that she'd hardly slept the night before. "How is he?" She asked.

"Much the same as last night I'm afraid." Deirdre explained gravely. "Although he seemed somewhat more settled this morning he didn't look good when Siegfried and James helped him up the stairs just now. I think the morphine has helped a little though. Apparently Doctor Alanson advised them not to move him last night but I think he'll fair better in bed and Siegfried says that he's going to sit with him for a while, if you want to go up and see him." She smiled.

Caroline glanced behind her, through the open kitchen door and out towards the stairs. She seemed to be contemplating whether to go up or not, but wasn't sure it would be the right thing for her to do. If Tristan really was as ill as people said he was then the best thing for him now was rest. She had trained as a nurse during the war and understood how important it was that he be kept calm and quiet. It was perhaps best to leave Siegfried to take care of Tristan alone for the moment.

"No." She conceded with a small smile, as Deidre turned back to the stove to stir the eggs, which had become stuck to the brim of the pan. "I think it would be best to leave them to it for now. Tristan needs to rest and I really don't want to disturb him. How about I help you with the breakfast instead?" She suggested. "I must say Deirdre, you look exhausted."

"Oh, I'm alright." Diedre shook her head, as she turned back to face her once the pan had stopped smoking and the smell of the burning yolks had dissipated slightly. "I'm just a wee bit tired that's all." She forced herself to return Caroline's soft smile. "With Helen laid up there was already so much to do, but now with Tristan out of action and Siegfried taking care of him I've been rushed off my feet all morning..." She explained.

Caroline reached out a hand and touched her gently on the elbow. It was a reassuring gesture and one that Deidre appreciated. She breathed a sigh, releasing some of her own pent up anxieties. Caroline's touch was comforting – she had spent all morning trapped inside her own mind, where there had only been room for her and her troubled thoughts. She worried whether Tristan was going to be ok, worried how much longer it would be before Helen was fit enough to get out of bed, she thought about her impossible workload in her absence and wondered whether if she hadn't been quite so tired might she have spotted how unwell Tristan was sooner?

"I think what I'm trying to say," the corners of her mouth twitched slightly as she looked up into Caroline's own smiling face, "is that some help with the breakfast would be great. Thank you."

Her first smile had been forced, but the slight upward curve of her lips as she turned to remove the pan of fluffy scrambled eggs from the stove and proceeded to add fat to a frying pan for sausages and bacon, was genuine. It didn't quite equate to a smile but she had to admit, with all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, it was nice to have someone to cook with. The kitchen hadn't seemed such a lonely place since Caroline had arrived.

"No need. It's what I came here for." Caroline's smile widened. She took a spare apron from where they were hung on the back of the kitchen door and tied it loosely around her slim waist as Deidre began to spoon the eggs into a ceramic serving dish, before adding half a dozen raw sausages to the frying pan and returning it to the heat. The fat sizzled.

Caroline noticed the bread which had been left out on the kitchen table and began to cut what was left of the farmhouse loaf into thick, substantial slices.

The two women busied themselves, frying the bacon once the sausages were done, boiling what remained of the eggs and toasting the bread Caroline had cut. There were now two less places to be set at the table for breakfast but Seigfried, James and Callum still had to eat, Helen would take a tray in her room, and the children - Jimmie and Rosie - both had hearty appetites which needed satisfying before school. Deirdre also prepared a smaller tray for Tristan of scrambled eggs and a pot of tea just in case he should feel more inclined to eat something later.

When the food was all prepared and the table laid, complete with teapot, seven sets of cutlery, crockery and coffee, Deirdre then took a tray of sausage and eggs up to Helen, whilst Caroline took a cup of tea with her into the sitting room to wait for her husband.

She didn't have to wait very long, and within a minute of her sitting down she heard his footsteps on the stairs. His were much heavier than either James' or Callum's, but his pace was slower. He paused briefly outside the sitting room door. She heard him hesitate as he appeared to change his mind, and then heard his footsteps again as he made his way into the surgery consulting room. He greeted Callum with a weary 'good morning' as he popped his head around the side of the door before making his way back towards the sitting room.

Caroline put her tea down and looked at the state of the room about her.

"How's he doing?" She asked him when he finally entered, looking rather the worse for wear. His eyes were darkened and heavy from lack of sleep, and his clothes were dishevelled from having spent the whole night curled up in the old armchair. Evidence of his makeshift bed was still evident, there were cushions piled up beside the hearth – at least five or six of them in total – and blankets thrown over the back of the sofa where, she assumed, Tristan had slept.

"My dear!" He exclaimed at the surprise of seeing her and she made a move to get up. He took a step towards her, arms open wide and ready to embrace his wife. "You really didn't need to come." He told her.

"Nonsense Siegfried." She smiled. "I wanted to. I was worried about Tristan, and I wanted to help. Besides you couldn't possibly have expected me not to." She insisted.

Siegfried looked at her, his smile seemed genuine, and he was obviously pleased to see her, but there was a troubled expression upon his face. He guided her back towards the sofa where the two of them stood in silence savouring the moment for a while. The previous evening had been the first they'd spent apart from each other since the wedding, and Siegfried had woken up several times throughout the night expecting to find Caroline beside him. His sleep had been broken and troubled – his anxieties over Tristan preventing him from sleeping too deeply. Caroline could tell that her husband was obviously struggling to formalise the fragmented thoughts swimming around inside his head, and as the two of them sat down she waited patiently for him to speak.

Siegfried sighed.

"Well, there's really not much to report, and very little be done, at least for the moment." He told her sombrely. He looked and sounded weary. Caroline could tell that he was evidently exhausted, and she wondered just how many times he'd felt compelled to get up to check on his brother during the night – knowing Siegfried probably more times than was really necessary.

"I've finally got Tristan settled in his bed, and he's resting now." He explained, removing his glasses and running a hand over his face. "He seems more comfortable now, but he's still running a high fever so it's hard to tell. Deidre's going to take him some breakfast up later though, although I doubt he'll feel like eating very much."

"I know." Caroline told him. "I helped her prepare it."

Siegfried looked at her – silently reaching out a hand and squeezing hers gently. He lightly brushed one pale, bony cheek and she leaned into his touch.

"My dear, you really are an angel." He told her. "I sometimes wonder what I ever did to deserve you."

She smiled.

"Speaking of breakfast..." She thought out loud as she got gracefully to her feet again and made her way over to the side table to pour her husband a cup of coffee. Siegfried rubbed his eyes and failed to stifle a small yawn. She returned with the hot beverage, taking care not to spill any of its hot contents, as she had rather overfilled the cup. She offered it to her husband. Looking down at him, so tired and worn after spending an entire evening taking care of his little brother, she thought to herself that she really did love him very much, and she marvelled at how lucky she was to have him as her husband. He'd told her that he sometimes wondered what he'd ever done to deserve her, and she frequently wondered the same. It had been so long since they'd courted when he'd asked her to marry him, but now she couldn't imagine a life for herself without him.

Although prone to something of a short fuse and fiery temper he was a tender man - a gentleman - and even when truly angry he was never violent. She had never known him to threaten another with either a hand or a fist as some men did when riled, and the most Siegfried was ever likely to raise to another was his voice. Despite his frequent complaints about Tristan he was in fact devoted to his younger brother, and had spoken to her in private on many occasions about how proud he was of him, and of how much he had achieved. Although he'd never said in so many words it was no secret that he loved him dearly, but when she'd asked him on such occasions why he didn't ever voice his opinions to Tristan he'd said that it didn't do to let him know just how much he was valued, and perhaps, she'd later considered, there was something to be said for this. Although she suspected that his brother probably already knew anyway, because it was evident to her that he felt exactly the same way too.

She loved Tristan too - not in the same way that she loved Siegfried of course, or that Siegfried loved his brother - but she found him to be sweet and endearing in a vulnerable sort of way. Whether it was down to simple personality or the fact that as the youngest he'd never had the same level of responsibility growing up that Siegfried had had she didn't know, but he seemed to continually find himself in the most difficult of situations. He was certainly well known amongst the young ladies of the village, who regarded him, for the most part, as a fun and vibrant character to be around - but his slight awkwardness in certain situations also made him something of a figure of amusement for certain sectors of that same village's society – especially the farmers. No malice was meant however, and anything said was only ever meant in the spirit of good humour and jest. Tristan was well aware of what certain individuals thought of him, and tried not to let it get to him for the most part, but his actions the previous evening only served to heighten her suspicions that as he had got older he had tried hard to distance himself from image he'd made for himself in his youth. From what she'd heard there'd once been a time when a mild hangover would have been enough to have confined him to his bed until lunchtime – it could be that his attempts to conceal an injury as severe as the one he appeared to have sustained the day before was an attempt to prove to them all, but especially to his brother, that he was now capable of handling what life had to throw at him, alone.

"Ah, thank you my dear." Siegfried took the cup from her gratefully, the aromatic scent of the caffeine rich beverage helping to wake him up a little, and as she resumed her seat beside him he took a sip of the drink. He a face which suggested that he regarded the liquid as something akin to ambrosia as it slipped silkily down his thirsty throat.

They sat in silence for a while, Siegfried lost in deep thought with his arm wrapped around his wife's slender shoulders as he sipped intermittently at the cup in his hand, and Caroline waited patiently for him to finish the last dregs of his drink.

She waited until she could wait no longer for her husband to say something more, but when she turned to look at him she realised that it was not through any reluctance on his part to talk which had led to his prolonged silence – Siegfried's eyes were closed, and it was obvious that he had fallen asleep.

"What did the doctor say?" She asked him.

Siegfried started awake. Realising what had nearly happened he took a look at the cup in his hands - tilting at a sharp angle and about to spill what remained of its contents into his lap - and placed it on the coffee table before him.

"I'm sorry my dear." He apologised. "I feel quite unable to keep my eyes open."

"It's alright." She smiled.

"It was about two in the morning before Doctor Alanson finally got here." He explained. "By that time I'd already had to give Tristan so much medication that he wasn't actually able to do much else for him. He had a slight tachycardia last night, but I have just had a little listen now and it appears to have corrected itself this morning. All the doctor could really say was that the wound is almost certainly infected, which was fairly evident anyway as Tristan has had a raging temperature all night, but he was able to stitch and dress the leg, and he gave him a sedative to help him sleep. He says he will call around again later to check on him."

"You had to treat him yourself?" Caroline asked – seemingly surprised by this revelation. Siegfried hadn't had time to tell her everything over the phone.

He nodded.

"He was in so much pain." He told her. "I've never seen Tristan in the state he was in last night before. I couldn't just leave him to suffer like that. Some of the drugs we use in vetenary medicine are also used by doctors to treat people. Its highly unethical but we use some of those drugs here, so I gave him pethidine for the pain, penicillin to treat the infection, and a tetanus booster." He explained. "I flushed out and dressed the wound. I did everything I could for him, and Diedre helped." He smiled, in afterthought, not wanting to downplay the role that the young woman too had played in helping him.

"Well, I'm here too now," Caroline returned her husband's smile, "and I'm not going anywhere, so you may as well make good use of me. You and James are going to be busy all day with surgery and your rounds. Helen's still laid up, and at least with an extra pair of hands it should give Deidre and Callum a little more time to themselves. By the way," She added, remembering the two Herriot children still upstairs getting ready for school, "that reminds me, who's taking the children to school?" She asked him.

"Well, it was supposed to be Tristan." Siegfried told her, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully, as he suddenly realised that he hadn't even began to consider the impact of Tristan's incapacity on the running of the busy household. "I suppose James will have to..." He considered, "although I have no idea how he's going to fit it all in. He's supposed to be visiting Mr Biggins' farm this morning..."

"Tell you what, how about I drop the children off at school and then come back and give Tristan his breakfast myself?" She offered. "Then Diedre and Callum can have a couple of hours to themselves whilst you take late morning surgery, and it'll give me a chance to see how Tristan is for myself."

"You know, I am quite prepared to believe that I really don't deserve you Caroline." He smiled wearily at her suggestion, evidently grateful for her willingness to help out. "It is one thing for a woman to take on a husband but to take on the rest of his family as you have done goes beyond what could and should be expected of her."

"Of course you do Siegfried." She laughed. "I knew what I was taking on when I married you. Yours is a family based on more than just blood, I understand that! I like being a part of it. But please, tell me honestly, how is Tristan now? I mean I know you've told me what the doctor said last night, but how is he this morning?" She asked him.

Siegfried looked at her, silent for a moment, and she watched as the smile upon his face slowly began to fade in staggered increments - first the corners of his thin lips relaxed slightly, and then a little more until his mouth set into a grim line across his face. He averted his eyes from hers, rising from his position beside her on the sofa and making his way towards the unlit fireplace. He starred into the hearth, at the chalky black embers, still smouldering within and thought about his brother asleep upstairs, semi-delirious with fever, and restless with pain.

Finally Siegfried turned back to face her, his expression heavy with concern. The truth was that he didn't know how Tristan really was – there was no way to see inside his body, to see the damage being done by the poison in his blood.

"Not good I'm afraid, my dear." He sighed. "He is a little better than he was last night, I think, but as I've already said if you could have seen the state he was in that's really nothing to go by. I'm afraid I think I'm going to have to move back in here for a few days, just until he's back on his feet again."

"I wouldn't have expected any less of you Siegfried." She nodded. If Siegfried hadn't already made his mind up to do so then she would have suggested it herself.

"Listen, are you really sure about all this though?" He asked her. "As you can tell, things are pretty chaotic around here at the moment. I don't like the thought of you being put out my dear. Tristan is my little brother, and as such he is my responsibility, nobody else's, and as you have probably come to realise by now he never makes things easy."

"In case you've forgotten Siegfried," She got to her feet, and made her way over to where her husband still stood, "Tristan is a grown man now, any responsibility you might have felt towards him terminated the day he turned eighteen, and if you ask me he's done a pretty fine job of taking care of himself so far... with the exception of a few minor hiccups." She considered, with a smile. "But no, it's no trouble at all. I did some nursing during the war remember?" She asked him,

"Of course you did my dear, of course you did." He nodded. "I hadn't forgotten you know..."

Caroline looked back at him with an expression dictating that she suspected he probably had - but then she couldn't blame him if this small detail had momentarily slipped his mind. She couldn't however hide the slight hint of amusement upon her face as she watched him try to convince her otherwise.

"Well if you're absolutely sure I can't deny that it would take the pressure off James and Callum a little... and Deidre too for that matter... " He considered. "She's been rushed off her feet all morning, poor girl…

...Now look, I've just changed his dressing, but it's going to need changing twice a day whilst the wound is still infected, and things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. That's the nature of dog bites I'm afraid." He warned her.

She nodded.

"Don't worry Siegfried." She smiled. "I'm sure I'm quite capable of taking care of Tristan. I know things seem bleak now, but he's going to be alright, we'll make sure of that!"

He wished that he had her level of optimism, but he had seen too many poor creatures lose their lives after a dog mauling, and not all of them had died of shock. He'd seen the results of dog bites on a few old farmers throughout the course of his career – inconsequential injuries acquired in the fields from a slightly overenthusiastic sheep dog. These superficial nips didn't seem quite so harmless once they putrefied and the fever set in however.

"I have no doubt that you are my dear." He returned her gesture. "I know you are right, but dog bites can be notoriously nasty. He just worries me so much."

He'd warned her that things were likely to get worse before they would get better. He would prepare her for how ill Tristan really was before he took her up to see him later, but Siegfried didn't have the heart to tell her why he was so worried. Tristan might make a quick recovery, but Siegfried couldn't help but worry about everything that could go wrong. He worried about the risks of the infection, about septicaemia, and gangrene, his immediate concern was for Tristan's fever and trying to ensure that it didn't spike too high, and he worried about his risk of pneumonia. Despite what Caroline had said about any responsibility he might have once felt towards his brother ceasing when the man had turned eighteen Siegfried was still his big brother, and he always would be. He couldn't just turn his feelings on and off like a light switch, and the weight of that responsibility still lay very heavily upon his shoulders.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Caroline, what are you doing here?" Tristan asked, struggling to sit up in bed with the surprise of seeing his sister-in-law. True to her word she had spent the morning helping Deidre finish making the breakfast and had got the children ready for school with plenty of time to spare. This had left James free to make an early start on his house calls – the first of which, to his evident dismay, was to Mr Biggins' farm. He really wasn't in the mood to have to deal with the cantankerous and obstreperous farmer this morning. If the man started on him, the mood he was in, he just might say something he might later regret.

Rosie had appeared particularly delighted to have her Auntie Caroline help her ready herself for school, having missed her mother's influence in the mornings. They were both such lively and intelligent children – a joy to be around most of the time. Rosie was the more inquisitive of the two – always asking questions and wanting to find out more about the world around her – but Jimmy was bright as a newly polished button, and very little got past him. Sometimes, if Caroline thought too hard about it, it made her sad to realise that she and Siegfried might never have children of their own. They'd both left it later in life to get married – too late for children – but they were happy together, and everyone could see that they were very much in love.

The change in their routine had immediately set alarm bells ringing in the children's young minds however, and before he'd even had the chance to leave for work that morning their father had had little choice but to tell them what had happened the evening before. He implored the pair to keep the noise down so as not to wake Tristan, who was trying to sleep upstairs. Caroline had been regaled with questions regarding the state of their Uncle Tristan's condition.

"But he will be alright, won't he?" Rose had asked her as she'd packed what little she needed for the day into her satchel, and Caroline had helped her on with her shoes as she'd handed her her lunch, wrapped in brown paper – a corned-beef sandwich, small slice of homemade fruitcake, and an apple.

"Dog bites can be awfully serious." Jimmy had told her, much to his little sister's dismay. "I head dad say once that even the smallest nip can become badly infected if it's not taken care of properly."

"But Tristan has Uncle Siegfried and Doctor Alanson to look after him." She'd reminded them, with a gentle smile. "They know what they're doing, and they're taking very good care of him."

"Can we see him?" Rosie had asked her, but Caroline had shook her head. She'd finally managed to pacify the little girl by telling her that Tristan was sleeping. She'd explained to her that rest was the most important thing for him right now. He was doing everything required of him to help his body get better, and they needed to try and keep things as normal as possible so as not to worry him further.

They were good, well behaved, children though and it hadn't taken much encouragement from her to get them out the front door and walk them the short distance to the local school. Siegfried had agreed to give Callum a couple of hours off after morning surgery was over, and when she'd returned about twenty minutes later it was to find Deidre packing a picnic basket for them both. It was near enough freezing outside – certainly not appropriate picnicking weather – but Calum had suggested that they go for a short drive in the countryside and eat their lunch in the car. This would give them both the chance to talk in private, and she seemed to be looking forward to it.

Looking down at Tristan now Caroline couldn't help but notice that he was white as a sheet. It worried her. As an auxiliary nurse during the war she'd seen men at the very end of life. She'd seen those with injuries too terrible to talk about, and had treated men ravaged by infection and disease – but she didn't think she'd seen anyone who looked quite so sick as her brother-in-law since she'd left that terrible part of her life behind her.

"I'm your designated nurse for the day." She told him, smiling. Despite the fact that he seemed clear in his mind for now he was clearly far from well. His complexion was a deathly shade of pale, but his cheeks were flushed pink with fever, and his blonde hair was plastered to his forehead, which was slick and sticky with sweat. She looked over at the untouched trey of food Deidre had had brought up for him before she'd left – at the food now cooling and almost unpalatable. She very much doubted that he would feel like eating anything, but it was worth a try.

"Now Tristan how about some breakfast?" She suggested, taking in the variety of the food – toast and jam, scrambled eggs, and a pot of tea with milk and sugar. Deidre had spared him the fatty bacon and sausages, but there was a jug of water and a glass on his bedside table.

Tristan took one look at the food in front of him and paled even further. Caroline suspected that the strong antibiotics were probably at least partly responsible for his nausea.

"No thank you Caroline." He shook his head. "I'm not really very hungry."

"Now come on Tris, I know you don't feel very well at the moment, but you've got to eat something." She tried to coax him as she stabbed at a blob of buttered scrambled eggs with a fork. "You've got to keep your strength up."

Tristan appeared reluctant, but took a bite from the fork Caroline held out for him, chewing the food slowly. Siegfried, who happened to be passing his brother's room, looked in on him through the crack in the door and smiled. The sight of his wife tending to Tristan with such genuine compassion filled his heart with joy.

He had married a truly wonderful woman. Many women might be considered attractive and were pleasing to the eye, but she was beautiful and graceful both inside and out. He could see that taking care of Tristan really was no burden to her – taking care of others was what came naturally to her. She'd trained as a nurse during the war because she'd felt it was where she could make the biggest difference to people's lives, and she'd accepted every member of the Scardale household as part of a large extended family, but Siegfried had always known that she had a particular soft spot for Tristan. It went beyond simple fondness – she'd actually grown to love him as she might if he were her own brother. It filled his heart with joy to know that she hadn't just taken him on when she'd agreed to marry him, but the rest of his unconventional family too.

Tristan ate what he could of the breakfast on the trey – he managed half a piece of toast and a couple of mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, but the sugary jam and tea proved a little too much for his stomach to stand. He then fell asleep for a while and whilst he slept Caroline sat at his bedside. She sat, silently reading, for over an hour, looking up from her page every now and again and getting up to check his temperature. After a couple of hours Tristan's fever spiked. A cold sweat glistened against his pale brow and he seemed more unsettled, tossing and turning in bed, and muttering to himself deliriously. He started to shiver, the shakes becoming increasingly more violent, and then he was sick. Caroline struggled to help the young man out of bed. He was frightened, and kept fighting against her. She tried to change his sweat soaked shirt and trousers, but he started to panic. He backed away from her and ended up on the floor, his injured leg unable to support his weight, and he swatted her hands away from him in the midst of his delirium. She called Siegfried up to help her, hoping he might be able to calm his brother.

"She's got me Siegfried, she's got me!" He cried, as the two of them tried to lift him off the floor.

"It's alright little brother, I'm here." Siegfried soothed him calmly. "We just need to try and get you back into bed."

They managed to manoeuvre the young man into the chair beside the bed, and whilst Siegfried helped his younger brother into fresh pyjamas Caroline changed the soiled and sweat soaked sheets. They both then managed to get him back into bed, and whilst Siegfried sat with him for a while she fetched a wet rag for his forehead to try and bring his fever down. When she returned, carrying a large bowel of water, it was to find that her husband had pulled up a chair at his brother's bedside, and was talking to him in a hushed tone. She watched him lean over to stoke a stray strand of hair away from his sweaty forehead – the gesture was such a tender one and done with such care that it touched her heat. Tristan appeared to visibly relax in his brother's presence – he stopped tossing and turning and sunk down into the nest of fresh sheets, allowing them the envelop his fevered body.

"Oh, thank you dear." Siegfried smiled as he took the bowel of water from her. He placed his palm to Tristan's forehead, checking the severity of his temperature, and feeling the heat of the flesh beneath his hand. He soaked the cloth and dabbed his brother's face gently with it, wiping away the beads of perspiration, before brushing back his blonde fringe and pressing it to his forehead.

Tristan's reaction was instantaneous. The cold water against his burning furnace of flesh proved to be a shock to the system. It was like dousing out the flames of a fire with ice water and he gasped, immediately reaching up to rip the compress away. The sharp intake of breath made him cough.

"No, don't' do that Tristan." Siegfried softly implored him, taking him gently by the hand. "It's just a cold compress to help bring the fever down." He explained. "Leave it where it is."

Once again the younger man appeared significantly reassured by the sound of his brother's voice. He stopped writhing, the cloth now safe to remain where it was for now, and lay back in bed, weak and shivering. His cheeks were still flushed with fever – they actually appeared to be a deeper shade of red – but he was definitely a few shades paler this afternoon which might also have accounted for their pronounced rosy hew.

"I'll make a start on lunch." Caroline suggested, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder, and he turned around to look at her as though he'd forgotten that she was there – that was alright though, she realised his mind was elsewhere. She observed the deep concern in his eyes, and she thought that she'd never seen him look as worried as he seemed right now.

"Thank you my dear." He smiled at her, and she bent down to kiss him on the cheek. She looped her arm around his shoulders. "Of course, we mustn't forget lunch." He said. "You must be starving."

"Actually," She smiled, "I was rather more concerned about you Siegfried." She told him. "I don't seem to have much on an appetite today, but you barely ate anything at breakfast, and I bet you didn't have anything to eat last night either."

Siegfried couldn't deny the truth in her statement – his wife knew him well. He nodded, as his gaze returned to Tristan's sleeping form. It wasn't a peaceful sleep, and Siegfried seemed disturbed by his brother's fitful dozing – Caroline didn't want to pressure him. She gently planted another kiss on the top of his head before untangling herself from him and slipping quietly – unnoticed – out of the room.

She prepared them all a light lunch, and to her relief Tristan's fever began to break enough that he too managed a little something to eat. His mind was still clouded with fever but he was lucid enough to ask for a small slice of homemade fruitcake. Siegfried was very reluctant to allow his brother the sweet treat, concerned that it's richness might be too much for his stomach to handle, but Caroline was loathe to deny him anything he'd specifically asked for and didn't see that a piece could do any harm. She slipped him a tiny slither, just to taste, but he wasn't able to keep it down for long.

He proceeded to vomit several times throughout the following couple of hours – bringing up his meagre stomach contents. This in itself wasn't unusual, the infection was running its course in his bloodstream and nausea was a common side effect of most antibiotics, but Siegfried became concerned when he continued to do so even after there was nothing left for him to bring up. When Diedre and Callum returned he dispatched her next door to call for Doctor Alanson. He wasn't there, his wife informed her that he was out on a house call, but said that she would send him round as soon as he returned.

The Doctor finally arrived one anxious hour later.

"He's weak." He explained, his Scottish accent thick, as he drew Siegfried slightly aside upon completing his examination of his younger brother. Both men turned to look at Tristan who was lying in bed, still semi-conscious and barely lucid. His fever had spiked again and before the doctor had arrived Siegfried had been worried as delirium had once again started to creep in - although mercifully the vomiting seemed to have subsided for now. He'd done everything he could to try and bring his temperature down - he'd opened the window in Tristan's bedroom, despite the bitter chill of winter frost outside, he'd removed the knitted blanket from his bed, and had continued to apply cold compresses to his forehead - but still the fever raged. He was sweating profusely and shivering, his teeth chattering, and he seemed confused. Siegfried could see that his brother was obviously fighting a massive infection. His complexion was still as white as the sheets covering him, and he grimaced at intervals with the pain that the torn and jagged flesh of the wound in his leg caused him.

"What he really needs now is food in his belly." Doctor Akanson told him. "I can give him antibiotics for the infection, and painkillers for his pain, but if he doesn't eat he's only going to get weaker. All the drugs in the world can't help him if his body can't do at least some of the work."

Siegfried sighed - this wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. He looked down at his little brother, his face a mask of concern and frustration.

"The thing is doctor," He started to explain gravely, "he's not exactly unwilling to eat, but he doesn't seem too enthralled with the idea at tge moment either. He needs quite a bit of coaxing. Perhaps it's quite understandable, but I like to consider myself something of an expert where my brother is concerned, he is something of an open book most of the time, and it's just not like him. Tristan loves his food almost as much as he seems to enjoy pickling his liver every evening and revelling in the attention of the ladies. I tell you one thing though, he's going to be damn near impossible to live with after this."

Siegfried forced himself to smile, but the corners of his lips didn't quite make it as far as his cheekbones. The doctor however returned his smile.

"Well perhaps some attention lavished on him by some pretty young lass is not wholly underserved after everything he's been through, ey' Siegfried?" He asked.

"Perhaps," Siehfried nodded, as he considered this, "when the time comes I might be inclined to be a little more lenient with him." He agreed. "But my main priority at the moment is what we need to do to help him get better." He said. "I may not be a doctor Harry, but I am a medical man and I'd much prefer to know what we're up against here."

"He has a small spot of blood poisoning Siegfried, nothing more." The doctor told him. The man was clearly trying to reassure his anxiety's but Siegfried's heart sank. It wasn't as if he'd been told anything he hadn't already suspected, but he also knew that there was no such thing as 'a small spot' of blood poisoning. It was a very serious and potentially life threatening infection.

"With strong antibiotics you should see a marked improvement in his condition within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours." The doctor continued. "He'll need close and careful monitoring but I see nothing in his current condition to cause any undue concern or alarm at this time. We need to be on the alert but his heart rate is regular and his pulse is strong. The signs of septicaemia are certainly nothing you yourself wouldn't have competence enough to recognise. You seem to have coped brilliantly so far." He told him.

"I have done my best for him Harry." Siegfried conceded. "I did what I thought I had to, but I am not a doctor."

"I know he looks bad Siegfried," The doctor acknowledged, "but it could have been a lot worse. If it wasn't for your quick intervention last night, getting the antibiotics into him as quickly as you did, we would have found ourselves in a very different situation right now. Cleaning and dressing the wound probably also helped to slow the spread of the infection." He commended him. "No, my concern is not so much for the leg at the moment, there is infection there but it remains quite clean, there is only a minimal amount of pus, and it doesn't smell fowl or gangrenous." He considered. "I'm more concerned that if we don't get some food and, even more importantly, some fluids into him soon then he is going to become dehydrated very quickly, especially if he continues to struggle to keep anything down. It might mean getting him into hospital for a few days, if only so we can get him on some IV fluids and some stronger antibiotics."

Siegfried looked at his younger brother, observing Tristan's restlessly sleeping form. He didn't say anything but the doctor could see the concern within his eyes as clearly as if he'd spoken of it aloud.

"Perhaps finding himself surrounded by pretty young nurses at his beck and call might help lift his spirits a little." Doctor Alanson smiled. "But we'll hold off making a decision about it now. I'd like to try something else first if you'd be up for it?" He considered thoughtfully. The idea had only just occurred to him, and it wasn't following proper protocol, but Siegfried was a man with more medical knowledge than his average patient, and therefore was more than capable of overseeing what he had in mind. "I'm afraid it would mean a lot more work for you though, and it would be quite a responsibility."

Siegfried looked at him expectantly. He didn't say anything but Doctor Alanson correctly interpreted this as a cue to go on explaining.

"It's unconventional, but I would like to set him up with some IV fluids at home." He explained. "It would mean that you would need to keep a much closer eye on him, ideally he shouldn't be left alone at all. He's already confused and the delirium could lead him to pull the cannula out, either intently or by accident if he were to lash out. It would also require you to change the fluids every couple of hours, but I'm sure with your medical expertise I could leave that in your very capable hands." He smiled slightly.

"Of course." Siegfried nodded. He remained completely unfazed by the sheer magnitude of the task he'd just been asked to undertake, but knowing him as well as he did Doctor Alanson wasn't surprised by his reaction.

"It's no substitute for solid food." He told him – this went without saying. "But if you can get him to eat and drink a little without him bringing it back up in the next day or so he might be alright. Just out of interest, what have you given him to eat today?" He asked him out of curiosity, almost as in an afterthought.

"Ummm… I'm not sure." Siegfried considered this for a moment, trying to think of everything his brother had consumed that day. It wasn't as lengthy a list as it would have been under normal circumstances but his mind had been elsewhere, and it was Caroline who'd been taking care of Tristan for most of the day. "You're probably better asking Caroline, she's spent most of the day with him." He explained. "I do know he's only picked at a few scraps of food though. He had some scrambled eggs this morning, but he wasn't able to keep them down for very long. He's had a few crusts of toast, and a slice of bread with butter and some plain chicken breast at lunchtime. Oh, and a small slice of Mrs Alton's fruitcake. I didn't think it was a good idea, Mrs Alton is a fine cook and makes one heck of a fine fruitcake but it is tremendously rich. Tristan insisted though, and Caroline was loathe to refuse him a small taste. He kept the bread and chicken down for a while… the same couldn't be said for the fruitcake I'm afraid."

"Anything to drink?" The doctor asked.

"Mainly just a little water," Siegfried replied, "and a couple of cups of weak tea with sugar. No milk."

Doctor Alanson nodded.

"Well, you've both done well to keep him on a lighter diet." He commended him. "The fruitcake may have been a bad idea though, but it's encouraging that he asked for it."

Siegfried too nodded in agreement.

"Caroline's cook him up a weak broth with vegetables now." He explained. "We're going to try and get him to sip some of that and hope he can keep it down."

"Well, you can but try Siegfried." The doctor smiled. He seemed to approve. "Persistence may pay off, but I also think a certain degree of trial and error is going to be needed here." He advised him kindly. "Try not to worry too much. I know it's easier said than done but Tristan's young and he's strong. I'll call around again later after I've finished my final rounds to see how he's doing and set him up with the IV, but I wouldn't be surprised if he's doing a lot better by the morning, we just need to get some fluids into him."

"Thank you Harry." Siegfried smiled. They'd started to make their way out onto the landing, and as they pulled Tristan's bedroom door closed behind them he gestured to the stairs. Both men were about the same age, both Scottish in descent, and in a small village like Darrowby it was hard for two men not to run in the same social circles. Although they both had their own separate groups of friends and casual acquaintances they'd always got on rather well, and it wasn't unknown for them to enjoy a drink or two at the Drovers together every now and again.

"I appreciate your input on this." He told him. "My little brother does have something of a talent for getting himself into these scrapes, but nothing quite like this before. I do my best of course, but as I've already said being a vet doesn't make me a doctor, and my own medical knowledge will only stretch so far."

"You're too hard on yourself Siegfried." The doctor chuckled as they started to descend the small staircase. Doctor Alanson went first and Siegfried followed. "I meant what I said. You did a pretty fine job patching Tristan up in my absence. I couldn't have done much better myself if I'd been here."

"All the same." Siegfried said as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs whilst the doctor reached for his hat and coat. He was only going next door, but mere habit dictated that he should put them on regardless. Doctor Alanson paused as the vet hurried ahead of him to get the front door, and as he passed him he tipped his hat respectfully.

"I'll see you later then Siegfried." He smiled.

"Thank you again Harry." The vet said.

As he stepped out into the cold, late afternoon air, and he hopped down from the front step to street level Doctor Alanson heard the front door close behind him.

Once the doctor had gone Siegfried heard the kitchen door open and turned to see Diedre standing in the doorway. She looked worried, her blue eyes glistening, and he smiled warmly at her as he approached. He hadn't eaten properly since the previous afternoon. He hadn't had chance to eat very much of his own lunch, he'd been too busy trying to coax Tristan into eating something, and so had only picked at a few scraps from his own plate. The smell of the broth cooking made his stomach growl hungrily.

"How is he?" She asked, and Caroline too now appeared at her side – both women were evidently eager to hear what the doctor had had to say.

"I heard Doctor Alanson mention blood poisoning. I wasn't listening in, I was collecting the washing from Callum's bedroom and just happened to be passing when I heard you two talking about it." She was quick to explain, her Scottish accent sounding even thicker in her upset. Her cheeks were flushed deep red from standing over the stove waiting for the broth to boil, and both women appeared suitably hot and flustered – but concern oozed out of the young Glaswegian like the sweat which glistened against her top lip. "I may not be a doctor, or a nurse, or even a vet," She told him, "I may not have any real medical knowledge to speak of at all, but I do know what blood poisoning is, and I know what it can mean. If we can't bring his fever down it's bad, isn't it?" She asked him.

Siegfried looked to her, and then to Caroline – he could no longer conceal his concern – nor, he realised, would it be fair on the two women to be anything other than completely honest with them. They were both clever, and well educated, and it would be doing their intelligence a huge injustice by trying to keep the extent of Tristan's illness from them. Caroline's experience as a nurse would mean that she wouldn't be taken in by her husband's lies anyway, and she wouldn't appreciate being treated like a child who needed to be coddled no matter how well-meaning his desire to protect her may be. She could read Siegfried like a book.

He nodded.

"Well, yes my dear, I'm afraid it is, very bad…" He said, placing a gentle hand on Deidre's arm. "But hopefully you also heard what else Doctor Alanson said. Tristan is young and strong. He has everything good going for him. We're going to get him set up with some IV fluids and antibiotics tonight, and hopefully, by tomorrow morning even, he should be feeling much better."

"You don't really believe that though do you Siegfried?" She asked him sadly. She'd observed the deeply concerned look in his eyes, and heard the lack of conviction in his voice.

"We can but try my dear." He said, forcing another smile for her – but he couldn't deny that the smile was weak because he had his doubts.


	9. Chapter 9

Tristan had a remarkable propensity for bouncing back and as it eventually transpired Siegfried need not have worried about his little brother. Doctor Alanson came by that evening as he'd promised, bringing with him the required medical equipment to set Tristan up with an IV. He showed Siegfried how to inspect the port site for possible infection and inflammation, and how to change the canula and choose another suitable site if necessary. He also showed him how to replace the bottle of fluids when the first one was finished, although this didn't take long – the anatomy of the human body may have been different from that of the animals he was used to treating but the basic principle remained the same, and Siegfried was a quick learner. The doctor then promised to call in again the following lunchtime, after morning surgery.

Siegfried sat up with his younger brother again that night, but to his evident disheartenment there seemed to be little change in his condition the following morning. Although the IV fluids were keeping him hydrated his fever still raged and he remained relatively uninterested in food. Siegfried understood the importance of good nutrition however, especially for someone was as sick as Tristan, and he wouldn't let him get away with eating nothing at all. To fight the infection and try to prevent it from overwhelming his system he needed to feed his body to keep his strength up, but the amount he did manage to get him to consume was so small as to appear inconsequential. It mainly consisted of a few small sips of weak soup, tiny bites of bread soaked in milk to soften it, and a small amount of water.

Doctor Alanson seemed slightly more concerned when he next paid Tristan a visit, observing that the young man's temperature was still climbing and his blood pressure was dropping. It was very upsetting for them all, and a sign that his immune system was losing its battle with the infection – although he hadn't yet developed any signs of respiratory distress. The doctor decided to increase his fluids and try a stronger course of antibiotics. He was so weak that he still didn't want to move him unless it was absolutely necessary, his life would currently be at even greater risk if they tried to move him, but he told Siegfried that if he still hadn't shown any sign of improvement by the end of the following day and his condition continued to deteriorate they would have to risk trying to get him to hospital. It meant yet another sleepless night for Siegfried – the third in a row – and Caroline was starting to worry about the possible effect the lack of sleep was having on her husband. He wasn't eating properly, and she didn't want him getting sick too.

The next day brought with it some hope of reprieve however, when Tristan finally started to turn a corner. The increased fluids and stronger antibiotics seemed to be all his body needed to gain an upper hand over the infection and when his fever finally broke the delirium which had gripped him gradually started to subside. By the time the sunrise came the following morning Tristan was still very weak, and his skin was still quite warm, but he was at least dry – the cold sweats and thin sheen of perspiration were gone.

He spent the remainder of the day resting in bed, still too weak to get up, and the one and only time he tried he nearly ended up flat on his face, if Siegfried hadn't of caught him. He still couldn't put any weight on his injured leg, which was now swollen to nearly twice it's normal size – but Doctor Alanson said that that should improve in another day or two, once he was able to get up and start walking around again.

He still wasn't showing much interest in food, but with some gentle coaxing by Siegfried he did manage to take a few glasses of water to supplement the IV fluids he was still on, and by mid-afternoon the hunger pangs had returned – protesting the lack of food in his stomach over the past couple of days.

Although he was still feeling somewhat nauseas he did manage to keep down a decent breakfast of weak tea and porridge, and even managed a couple of slices of toast a couple of hours later.

Callum brought home some kippers – a present from a grateful client – and Deidre cooked him a couple for his lunch. He seemed to enjoy them – savouring the taste – and when he managed to keep them both down as well they all knew he was finally on the mend. In fact the young woman thought he looked significantly better when she went in to check on him later that same afternoon – he was no longer as pale as he had been, and there was a little more colour in his cheeks.

"Well, you're certainly looking a lot better." She smiled, her relief evident at seeing him awake – sitting up in bed and reading a magazine. It was the latest edition of the veterinary journal – she'd seen Siegfried reading it the evening before and Tristan appeared particularly engrossed – although in an article about what she couldn't see from where she was standing. He put the magazine aside as she entered, and watched her as she pulled up the chair beside his bed.

"I feel a little better today." He nodded. She was glad to see that the haze of delirium had gone and that his eyes were now clear and bright.

"How's your leg?" She asked him.

"Hurts like hell." He grimaced, looking down to where the heavily bandaged limb was, beneath the blankets. He gripped the top of his thigh thoughtfully, but looking back up at her and seeing the expression of concern on her face he forced a smile. She thought to herself how tired he seemed, and it wasn't just his eyes that gave him away, nor the fact that he still seemed somewhat lethargic – his voice sounded as weak as he looked.

"I still can't bear any weight on it." He told her, remembering his near fall earlier in the day.

"Well, Doctor Alanson said that it's probably going to take a while for the bruising and swelling to go down." She told him. "You're probably not going to be able to bear weight on it for a long time."

"Siegfried told me I had to have stitches." He said, and she nodded.

"It was a deep wound Tris." She explained – remembering the mangled mess of torn and jagged flesh, encrusted with clots of dry blood. "It required twelve stitches in all." She continued. "I've never seen you as sick as you were the other night Tristan. It was scary to watch so I can't even begin to imagine what it was like for you to go through."

"To be honest Diedre," He confessed, "I can't really remember very much about it after you and Siegfried helped me into the living room, at least not in very much detail." He added. "It's all a bit of a blur."

"Well you had one hell of a fever." She told him – remembering how quickly his temperature had spiked. She decided to fill him in on some of the details he was clearly lacking. "You were delirious for days. It took a few hours for Doctor Alanson to finally arrive, his wife couldn't get a message to him. Siegfried had to make the call on whether or not to begin treating you himself. It really wasn't an easy decision for him to have to make, but there was no sign of the doctor and you were getting worse so he gave you some painkillers and a tetanus shot. From what I've heard the penicillin he also gave you may very well have been what helped to slow the spread of the infection." She explained. "You were so sick, he really didn't have any other choice, but he's been very worried about you – we all have."

Deidre leaned forward and slid herself from the chair onto the edge of his bed.

Tristan appeared surprised, Siegfried hadn't told him any of this, and as a vet himself he realised what a terrible dilemma this must have placed his brother in. He knew that what he had done could be considered highly unethical. As veterinarians theirs was only a very limited knowledge of the human anatomical structure, and the margin for error was greater than most people would think. It was a true measure of just how ill he must have been, for Siegfried to feel he had no other choice but to intervene. He knew that his older brother wouldn't have compromised himself in this way otherwise – and he didn't mind admitting to himself that that scared him a little.

"I didn't realise he cared so deeply." He laughed, but Diedre knew that he was only joking. They could lock horns like two rutting stags sometimes, but deep down everyone who knew them knew that both brothers loved each other very much. "It might have all been worth it to see how much if it hadn't been quite so painful." He continued.

Tristan's hand then moved from his thigh as he reached up to rub at the needle in the back of his hand. He was already on his fifth bottle of IV fluids, and along with the additional antibiotics Siegfried was having to inject him with several times a day, as well as the drugs being fed through his canula, it appeared to her as though the infection was receding more rapidly now. It was as though his immune system had finally gained the upper hand, and was working quickly to neutralise the invading pathogens.

Now that he seemed to be showing some signs of improvement Doctor Alanson had prescribed him powerful painkillers and anti-inflammatories to be taken orally four times a day, but he'd told Siegfried that he could give him an additional dose of a painkiller – via injection – such as a small dose of morphine about an hour before he was due to have his dressings changed. It was a lot of work and a huge responsibility to take on, and it meant that for the next few days at least Siegfried was going to have to remain closer to home – leaving it up to James and Callum to take on the bulk of the farm visits and large animal work. All routine and non-urgent house calls had been rescheduled.

Siegfried was aware of the fact that it was a lot to ask of the two men, who were already overstretched with their workloads, but all were in agreement that if the new regime kept Tristan on the road to recovery and out of hospital it was worth it.

Most of the clients had been understanding of the situation once it had been explained to them – wishing Tristan well, and bidding him a speedy recovery – but there had also been those, a small few, who'd not been quite so sympathetic, and Deidre feared that it might have cost the practice business at this busy time of the year. Siegfried too had echoed her concerns, but hadn't appeared particularly phased by the prospect – simply stating that those clients who would refuse to pay them because of Tristan's incapacitated condition would be those they'd struggle to get payment from anyway. There could be no pulling the wool over Siegfried's eyes, he was a shrewd judge of character and perfectly aware of those handful of individuals who would try to use his brother's injury, and the extra strain this placed on the practice, as an excuse not to pay their bills.

"Is it sore?" She asked him, indicating his hand, which was looking a little inflamed to her – the area around the canula was pink and swollen with edema. He nodded.

Siegfried would probably have to change the site at his next IV change, which would also mean giving him a new canula. He hadn't had to do it himself yet but had watched Doctor Alanson feed the needle parallel to the vein and secure it in place with a keen and attentive eye.

"It aches." Tristan told her, and she smiled sympathetically, taking him by his one free hand and squeezing it gently within her own.

She sat with him for about an hour, revelling in the young man's company. She was painfully aware of the fact that if Joe Hepton hadn't come along and found him when he had the infection would have probably spread quickly, and as Tristan grew steadily sicker his weakened body would have been rapidly overcome by the frigid temperatures of the Yorkshire moors. They could very easily have lost him – even if they had have found him eventually it may already have been too late, and she realised how lucky she was to be able to share this moment with him now. She didn't want it to end, but after about an hour it became obvious that Tristan was struggling to stay awake. His mind was no longer on their conversation and his eyelids started to droop. He apologised to her for not being able to keep his eyes open, but realising that his body was screaming out for rest she settled him back down in bed. There was no protest from Tristan, who was asleep within minutes, and Deidre crept quietly from his room, taking what was left of his lunch trey with her.

Out on the landing she could hear Siegfried having a rather heated conversation with someone downstairs. She could hear two voices – Siegfried's own and one female – and as she approached the banisters she leaned over carefully so she could hear what they were both saying and to get a better look. The front door was open, and Deidre could see that it was Mrs Butterwoth standing on the front step – Siegfried seemed to be baring her way into the house. She couldn't see her face from her current position, but judging by the tone of her voice the woman clearly wasn't happy about something – and it didn't take her long to find out what.

"I'm afraid, Mrs Butterworth, you're going to have to find another practice to take care of Timmy from now on." Siegfried was telling her. "We can no longer respond to any call outs relating to your dog's health."

"Why on earth not?" Mrs Butterworth shrieked, and Diedre flinched away instinctively from the shrillness of the woman's voice.

"Mrs Butterworth your dog damn near put my brother in hospital a few days ago!" Siegfried exclaimed. "He's vicious!"

Deidre could tell that he was struggling to remain calm and professional, but she thought that he was doing a pretty good job of reigning in his temper. She wasn't sure that she would be quite so restrained under the circumstances if she'd been the one confronted by the loathsome woman.

"He's not vicious! He was only playing!" Mrs Butterworth's voice went up another couple of octaves in her rage, becoming a painful screech. Callum had brought home an injured barn owl once, which had shrieked for half the night and had kept the whole household up – but she still didn't remember it's calls being anywhere near as unpleasant her voice was to now listen to. Siegfried however managed to stand his ground – his own anger surpassing that of their outraged client – and Deidre screwed her eyes shut and tried to close her ears to the unpleasant squealing sounds as she began to make her way downstairs – being careful not to drop the trey in her hands.

"Playing? Mrs Butterworth you wouldn't be saying that if you'd seen the state of my brother's leg!" He told her – his own voice too now increasing in volume, although he still managed to remain in control. "He's taken a chunk out of it the size of a golf ball! As things stand it'll be several weeks before he's able to come back to work – meaning that we are now a man down at a time when we have already been short staffed." He explained. "But aside from that the wound is severely infected and my brother is very ill! I will not risk anyone else in this practice for your wretched mutt!"

"But I pay your fee!" Mrs Butterworth howled. "You can't turn me away!"

Deidre had made it to the bottom of the stairs, and could now see the young woman's face from over Siegfried's shoulder. It was red with rage, and covered in a thin and shimmering sheen of sweat. There was a smudge of dirt – which looked to be something akin to soot – on the bridge of her nose, her hair was dishevelled and there was a badly misshapen hat perched precariously on the top of her head. There also seemed to be quite a crowed gathering on the opposite side of the street. People were evidently curious to see what all the commotion was about, and she knew that the Butterworth's were not particularly well liked in the village. The children were frequently getting themselves into trouble, and their mother didn't exactly set a good example for her offspring to follow.

"That matters not to me Mrs Butterworth!" Siegfried shook his head. "I think we can manage perfectly fine without the pauper's pittance you pay us! That is when you pay us at all!"

"You can't talk to me like that!" She screamed, taking a step forward, and for a moment Deidre thought that she might have been about to try and force her way in, but Siegfried had had enough, and he certainly wasn't going to run the risk of allowing her to gain entry to the house.

"Goodbye Mrs Butterworth." He said before slamming the door in her face. Deidre had to stifle a small laugh. She could still hear the woman muttering to herself on the doorstep on the other side of the door as Siegfried turned to see her standing on the bottom step looking back at him – she couldn't hear exactly what she was saying to herself, but she couldn't imagine it being anything good.

"Tristan will be pleased – he's never liked Timmy." She smiled meekly.

"The dog's always had a bit of a vicious streak." Siegfried explained – taking the trey from her hands and observing what was left of Tristan's lunch, as he headed off in the direction of the kitchen. Deidre followed. "I've never much liked him myself, and I should have put my foot down a long time ago. Then again what sort of chance does any dog stand with the likes of Mrs Butterworth and her brood – they're all malnourished. They can barely afford to feed themselves, let alone Timmy – but Wendy dotes on him, and let's face it, the child doesn't exactly have much does she?"

"I suppose not." She sighed sadly, thinking of how little the girl had in her life to be thankful for. She had been born into poverty and seemed destined to remain so for the rest of her life.

"How is my brother this afternoon anyway my dear?" He asked her as he put the kettle on the stove to heat some water. It would soon be time for Tristan to have his bandages changed. Deidre thought it seemed a pity to wake him when she'd only just got him settled, but she knew it would have to be done. Siegfried would have to give him his next injection of morphine soon.

"I think he's doing a little better." She smiled. "He's eaten most of his lunch, and he managed to keep his breakfast down this morning so it looks like his appetite is coming back."

Siegfried nodded, he too had been encouraged by the improvements he had observed in his brother as the day had progressed. He'd had a little listen to his chest when he'd been in to check on him not yet a couple of hours since, after afternoon surgery. He'd been concerned that being laid up in bed for the past couple of days may have allowed the congestion to settle on his lungs and fester, leading to pneumonia, but he'd been relieved to find that they were now clear. It seemed as though the antibiotics which had been prescribed to treat his leg, had also worked to treat the chest infection.

"I do believe my little brother is doing better today." He concurred. "He does appear to be on the mend."

"Will he be alright do you think?" Diedre asked him, knowing that despite the improvement they'd observed in his condition they still couldn't take it for granted that he was over the worst.

Siegfried seemed to think about this for a moment, and then a small smile spread across his face as he wrapped his one arm around her – pulling the young woman into his embrace. Diedre still thought he was looking pretty pleased with himself for finally getting rid of Mrs Butterworth. One thing was for sure, nobody would be sad to see the back of her vicious dog.

"He's still got a long way to go." He told her, cautiously. "He will need to rest, and stay off that leg for the next few days. It's going to be a while before he'll be well enough to come back to work, but he certainly seems to be out of danger."

Diedre rested her head on his shoulder, and she could sense Siegfried's own relief too. The past few days had been hellish for them all, and it felt like a massive weight had been lifted to know that it was finally over. She was under no illusions that the road to recovery would be easy for Tristan. She had seen it in his eyes just now that he was still in a lot of pain, but Siegfried seemed to have confidence in his brother, and she knew now at least that he would eventually recover. It was just going to take time – something of which they had in plenty.


End file.
